It's Okay To Not Be Okay

I broke down last night.

As the appointment with the Wash U oncologists loomed, I was carrying this sense of impending doom in my body. Up to now, once Kris was released from wearing the back brace all the time, we were living in a bubble of sorts. We were just going to treatment appointments, Kris was faithfully taking his meds, and things had some semblance of "normal" for a time. I had certain expectations of this appointment, but had only thought about it in terms of the details they would be providing about the bone marrow transplant: when it would happen, what it would look like, whether Kris would be in isolation, what the risk of infection was, etc...

I didn't expect that appointment to turn my world upside down.
That's the thing with expectations--things do not always go the way we think they will. As hard as we may try to NOT have expectations, I think we just instinctively do this. We believe things one way and don't really think about another possibility, until we are punched in the gut with one. That's how it felt on Tuesday. Like the rug was pulled from under us, shattering our illusion that Multiple Myeloma is not usually fatal.

I felt strong all day on Tuesday, and I saw God show up in tiny ways, again and again and again. I felt truly calm even with the truth we learned, and had a peace that cannot be explained. Anyone who knew me 10, 5, or even 2 years ago would (and have been) surprised at the peace that has been evident in me all throughout this. It is only from God. I spent all of 2023 chasing after peace and fighting fear at a deeper level. It brought me to a place where I could claim victory and say (and truly believe) that NO MATTER WHAT I will be okay. I have clung to that, repeated that to myself and others, and cherished this new level of peace God has given me.

The peace that cannot be understood, while ever-present with me now, doesn't suddenly stop my ability to FEEL. Our feelings just are. They are present in our bodies, and they come, and they go. It is their nature. Sometimes, though, we get stuck in our feelings, and that is a dangerous place to stay. I am learning the art of feeling my feelings, grieving what I need to grieve, and then releasing those feelings into the hands of a God who has never let me go.

So, it's not really surprising to me what happened last night.
Do you ever just feel like picking a fight? The tension was building in my body, and because my mind felt sound, it was very disorienting. I didn't understand what was happening or why I was so agitated with Kris. In several moments over the last two days, I have been short with him. I can see the pain and physical exhaustion written all over his face and it throws me off balance. Especially when he says things like "I'm just tired." or "My pain isn't that bad." I have trouble believing him, because what I SEE and what he is saying are two completely different things. It makes me fearful that he is falling back into his old pattern of simply shoving his feelings down and not being present with what is happening in his body. But do I tell him this? No. Because at that moment, I'm stuck in the past with a younger, terrified version of myself who is accustomed to hearing devastating confessions when her husband's actions don't line up with his words. And while I know in my mind this present situation is not related to his past addiction, I get stuck back there emotionally when he's tired especially, because it creates this distance between us that I have trouble navigating. It leaves me feeling off-balance, which in turn increases the sarcastic tone in my voice, its raised volume, or my complete shutdown in communication with Kris.

This entire cancer journey has been filled with emotional flashbacks for me, because Kris with cancer is a different Kris. He's run down often, he is in pain much of the time, and he simply isn't able to do many of the things he did before. While I can acknowledge that he is NOT currently acting out, it doesn't change how my body reacts when I am stuck in an emotional flashback. But I didn't immediately identify it last night. Instead, I felt incredibly small, dismissed, and unseen by my husband. I just kept blurting out any thought that came to mind. The problem was much of it was not coherent or expressed in a way that Kris could even enter into. It was chaotic in my mind and it came out chaotically and left Kris feeling confused and at a loss on how to move forward.

I knew it wasn't his fault. I knew that I was experiencing a complete overwhelm of sensations, physically and emotionally, but I was stuck and didn't know how to speak it. And then came my old friend Shame with lies like this: "He has cancer. How could you possibly be making this about you? You don't get to feel anything or experience pain because HE is the one who needs to do that. You had your time. I can't believe you are treating him like this when he's sick and needs to get some rest. What a horrible, selfish wife you are. And not just a bad wife. A bad mom. A bad friend. A bad Christian. Look at you, shaking and crying and making it all about you. You're having a panic attack just to pull the attention back on you. What a pitiful excuse of a human you are. You aren't allowed to feel anything. You need to shut up and let him go to bed. You're so stupid."

And I'm going to be honest. I got stuck there for a while. I even believed the lies temporarily, where in less stressful times I can call them out and renounce them. It is so easy to fall back into the habit of just ingesting and believing the lies, especially in times of deep trouble. I'm a baby still when it comes to denouncing the lies and declaring the truth of who I am, because of who God is. Last night, I was truly stuck, frozen, unable to move.
And as the old familiar panic attack washed over my body, the lies were heavy in my mind and I couldn't talk. I couldn't explain to Kris that I was having trouble believing the truth that I know. The lies were SO loud it was all I could hear. I was having a very real moment of terror and I couldn't even understand what it was rooted in. The entire time, leading up to the panic attack, I kept searching my brain trying to understand WHAT was happening. Why was I so edgy? Why was I attacking my partner who has loved me at my worst? What experience in my past was causing this amount of disruption in me? And unlike my past experience when I am curious instead of fearful about what is going on in my mind and body, I couldn't come up with anything, which left me feeling even more unstable.

All I knew is that the entire thing spiraled out because I told Kris that I didn't feel like he really cared when I talked about how hard it has been these last couple of weeks especially dealing with what are likely very real symptoms of perimenopause. He has seemed disengaged, and has barely said anything at all in response to me when I would share. I felt alone, like I was drowning and he, who represents safety for me, was not willing to throw me a lifeline. I'm not saying it is an accurate picture of his heart. I KNOW that it is not who he is. It never has been. Time and time again he has thrown me a lifeline and held me when my body was shaking or my fear was too big. There's no reason for me to think that. And yet, it is the reality of what was happening in my brain.

Suddenly, somehow in the midst of it all, a small piece of the puzzle became clear. The reason I am SO disrupted about experiencing menopausal symptoms is because I have lived with a very real fear inside of me regarding this very day. For many years, that fear ran rampant, unchecked. When I was 19 years old with a blood clot, I was told that I could never take estrogen or have hormone replacement therapy down the road when menopause hits. It was traumatic news to hear, and not knowing what I know now, I buried it deep in my mind and my body. It would come up from time to time, and I would feel the fear of it, and then I would shove it down again. What was the point in worrying about something that was decades away? But I didn't realize that each time I took it out and looked at it, and then put it back, I was giving that fear room to ferment and grow. And it grew silently and metastasized to the point that now that I am smack dab in the middle of a body that is doing things I cannot control and cannot treat with HRT, so of course I am going to be off balance. Of course I am going to panic.

As soon as I realized this, my PTSD freeze response kicked in and I stayed stuck there for a long time. The freeze part was evident in the fact that I simply could not figure out how to TELL Kris about it. I didn't know how to form the words. It reminded me of all the times when we were first married at 19 and we would have conflict, and I didn't know how to have a voice so I would LITERALLY go and hide in our closet. Kris would come and find me, he would sit with me, and he would just wait patiently. He would try to coax me to open up and talk to him. I'm not sure he realized what he was unleashing by giving me a voice to speak about all of the painful things I carried inside. Perhaps you can't see me this way, because I am now so very open about everything I think and feel. But there was a time when I could sit for hours, unable to speak about the really hard things. It was so crazy last night, to feel like I was 19 again, sitting in that closet, unable to articulate the pain I was feeling.

Feeling off balance from that, while Kris stood there unable to find words to say to enter into the moment with me, I went to the bedroom and left him in the family room. After a couple of minutes, he sent me a chat and we had a brief exchange. But I was still highly agitated and desperate to not be abandoned. I'm not a nice person in the face of abandonment. All the things that I try to die daily to rise up and I become someone you wouldn't recognize. I imagine this is just part of being human for all of us, so I don't think my experience is unique, and I’m not going to shame myself into defeat.

Because of miscommunication through chat, Kris came back to the bedroom to talk. I could see it all over his face and in his body language--he simply did not know how to come alongside me at that moment. He didn't know what I needed. I didn't know what I needed. And as he looked at me with true confusion, I desperately began searching my mind to understand what I was feeling. I became frantic as I searched for the younger version of myself that I can usually find in these moments. I couldn't find her and it terrified me. She was gone and I didn't know where she was. How could I sit with her and protect her from the onslaught if I couldn't find her? It literally filled me with terror to not know where she was.

As the panic attack fully settled in, by this point, Kris was laying in bed beside me. I couldn't speak, but I wanted to cry out, "I can't find her! I don't know where she is but she needs me." I wanted to tell my husband why I was panicking, but I simply could not utter the words. All I could do was lay there in panic, waiting for it to pass. While it was overwhelming and out of my control, I knew deep in my soul that it WOULD pass. So I just laid there, waiting, as I held my breath and my body trembled.

At some point, Kris turned on some music. He didn't know that the very song he turned on first (Oceans-Where Feet May Fail by Hillsong) was one that I had heard early that morning and it brought me great comfort then. So to hear it again in that moment, I KNEW God saw me. I KNEW that my husband saw me. My body was still in a full on panic attack, but I had clarity in my mind.

What God did next blew my mind. It didn't surprise me, but it wrecked me in the best possible way. Song after song for nearly an hour came on. It wasn't the usual songs. Every song was one I knew and loved, but several of them were strategically placed in line to play, something only God could have done, to reveal to me the truth I was desperately chasing after. I needed to understand what was driving the panic attack, and the events that led up to it. I couldn't figure it out on my own, except to know that somehow everything we had experienced over the last two days was just a LOT. The panic attack actually made sense to me, because I had been walking in such strength and peace (the Lord's, not my own), without having actually taken time to FEEL what my body needed to, specifically concerning Kris’ life expectancy.

What you do not feel WILL arise somewhere else. If you do not feel it, express it, and grieve whatever "it" is, it will stay stuck in your body. I think that's why I had the panic attack. Because while I took time Tuesday afternoon to rest, it looked more like just laying there, unable to move or speak or think or feel. I was still in shock. We carried on with our day, and spent the evening Tuesday night having pizza with our kids, my mother-in-law, my sister and her husband, and two of our bonus kids. We spent at least an hour sitting in a circle in our family room, being completely transparent with our family about what we were facing and how we planned to walk through it. We laughed and cried and loved on each other. That night is cemented in my mind, a memory that I think our family will cherish as the years roll by.

Yesterday, I hit a wall at work (figuratively) at about 10:30AM. A deep exhaustion settled into my bones, and my coworkers could see it all over my face. I went home to finish my shift and trudged through the rest of the day. My sister and a couple friends came over to craft in the afternoon and it was relaxing and needed, but around 6PM, I hit another wall. I simply couldn't move. I just sat in my chair, talking to everyone, but unable to do anything else. Once our friends left, Kris and I did our devotions and watched a show together.

And then it went downhill from there.

About an hour before it began, I told Kris I thought I might have a panic attack. His response would normally have been tender and compassionate. But last night, because we were in the middle of conflict, he just sat there saying nothing. I felt like I had to run. Like I had to get away and hide from all of it. It must have been so confusing for him to see me like this last night. He was completely at a loss for how to come alongside me. I knew that I wasn't making any sense. I knew that his hands were tied, because I didn't even know what was happening or what I needed.

I could end it there and just tell you that in the end we made up and all was well. But if I just did that, then I couldn't share all the ways in which God showed up last night, and how HE revealed to me what was happening, since neither one of us had any clue. The perimenopause conversation may have been the catalyst, but that isn't what was really upsetting me. It took three songs, strategically placed in order, for God to reveal to my heart what I was wrestling with.

Oceans by Hillsong was the first and that song helped my body to calm. Literally, halfway through, the shaking in my body suddenly stopped. I was able to take small breaths. The panic and shaking would come and go over the next few songs, but miraculously in the middle of Oceans, my body suddenly stopped shaking entirely and I was able to lay my arms down at my side.

You call me out upon the waters | The great unknown where feet may fail | And there I find You in the mystery | In oceans deep my faith will stand | And I will call upon Your name | And keep my eyes above the waves | When oceans rise | My soul will rest in Your embrace | For I am Yours and You are mine | Your grace abounds in deepest waters | Your sovereign hand will be my guide | Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me | You’ve never failed and You won’t start now

Lead Me by Santus Real came on next. And I remember thinking, what an odd song. But as I listened to the first verse, and it echoed exactly how I was feeling in that moment, I knew it was from God.

I look around and see my beautiful life | Almost perfect from the outside | In picture frame, I see my beautiful wife | Always smiling but on the inside | Oh I can hear her saying | Lead me with strong hands | Stand up when I can't | Don't leave me hungry for love | Chasing dreams but what about us? | Show me you're willing to fight | That I'm still the love of your life | I know we call this our home | But I still feel alone.

As that verse played, Kris took my hand. I knew with everything in me that he was communicating to me that he saw me. That he was not going to leave me to face this alone. That he was going to stand up and fight for me, in that moment, because I couldn't. As the song continued, Kris tenderly stroked the top of my head.
The next song to play was Praise You In The Storm by Casting Crowns. Suddenly, I remembered hearing this song when my friend Shawn lost his wife and two of his boys suddenly back in 2005. It has always held a special place in my heart and I prayed that song so many times over Shawn in those early months of deep grief and loss he had to walk through.

I was sure by now | God, You would have reached down | And wiped our tears away | Stepped in and saved the day | And once again | I say, 'Amen' and it's still rainin' | But as the thunder rolls | I barely hear Your whisper through the rain | 'I'm with you' | And as Your mercy fails | I'll raise my hands and praise the God who gives | And takes away

My sobbing became loud and ugly and I realized that I needed to cry, to weep, to sob, to let all of it wash over me and FEEL it. As the chorus played, I raised my hand up toward the ceiling. In the dark, laying in our bed, I began to worship.

I'll praise You in this storm | And I will lift my hands | For You are who You are | No matter where I am | And every tear I've cried | You hold in Your hand | You never left my side | And though my heart is torn | I will praise You in this storm

Another old song came on after that, Cry Out To Jesus by Third Day. My sobbing renewed in earnest when I heard the first notes, as this song is one I have gone back to time and time again. I remember sending it to my grandma after my grandpa died. I didn't expect it to come on last night and I didn't expect to be so deeply sorrowful through it, but it was in this song that I realized exactly what had prompted everything that transpired last night. Two parts in particular hit home so much harder than I thought they would or should, but then it just made sense.

To everyone who's lost someone they love | Long before it was their time | You feel like the days you had were not enough | When you said goodbye

AND

To the widow who suffers from being alone

That last one made me think of my grandma, and my friend Cynthia who is a widow and has been by my side every step of this cancer journey. As this song played, I still had my right hand lifted in the air in worship. Kris lifted my left hand that was intertwined with his and we lay there, hands raised, silently praising God for who he is, for what he has given us, for the work he has done in each of us, and for bringing us to this very moment.

The song ended and I finally found the first words to speak to Kris in over an hour, as understanding dawned and I knew what I was feeling. I sobbed out, "I don't want you to die. I know that I will be okay if you do, but I don't want you to." He held me tight, whispered reassurances over me, kissed my forehead, stroked my hair, and just allowed me to weep.

I knew I was not going to let the enemy bind me in fear, but in that moment, I WAS afraid. It was real and it was raw and it is okay that I felt it. And as I realized this, I understood something else. Remember how I couldn't find the younger version of me to comfort? I suddenly knew why I couldn't find her. Because she wasn't the one crying out to be seen and held and comforted. It was ME. The present, 45 year old me, needed to be ministered to and comforted.

We didn't talk. We just kept listening to music and in each song that came on, God spoke and moved, He loved, He saw, He comforted, He encouraged, and He filled us up. Promises by Maverick City held these truths:

Time and time again | You have proven | You'll do just what you said | Though the storms may come and the winds may blow | I'll remain steadfast | And let my heart learn, when You speak a word | It will come to pass |

AND

I put my faith in Jesus | My anchor to the ground | My hope and firm foundation | He'll never let me down

AND

Yes I'll still bless You | In the middle of the storm, in the middle of my trial | I'll still bless You

How He Loves by David Crowder Band played next and was the perfect reminder of how deeply loved we are.

And we are His portion and He is our prize | Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes | If his grace is an ocean, we're all sinking | And heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss | And my heart turns violently inside of my chest | I don't have time to maintain these regrets | When I think about the way | He loves us | Oh how he loves us

That song was followed by Gratitude by Brandon Lake and we both just laid together, listening and echoing every word it says.

All my words fall short | I've got nothing new | How could I express | All my gratitude | I could sing these songs | As I often do | But every song must end | And you never do | So I throw up my hands | And praise You again and again | 'Cause all that I have is a hallelujah

What a beautiful night of worship Kris and I experienced. Like Tuesday night, surrounded by family as we faced our battle head on, that memory is going to be treasured as long as I have breath.

Cynthia sent me a text this morning telling me it was okay to not be okay. I shared that with Kris over chat and he said, “It's definitely okay to not be okay. I'm sure it will come in waves. I love you. I'm here with you now. He is with you always. I believe we still have lots of new memories to make together.”

We chatted a little more about last night, specifically when he lifted my other arm up. He said, “When I lifted your hand, I was imagining Moses. I felt like my role last night was that of Aaron or Hurr.” -- if you don't know the story, the Israelites were in battle and as long as Moses held his hands up, they had victory over their enemies. A person can get weary lifting their arms for so long. And Moses did. So Aaron and Hurr came alongside him and literally held his arms up as the battle raged on.

I replied, “I imagined that too and have told several people that I have had that kind of support throughout this journey, so I knew when you did it that is what it was.”

I told him I didn’t know if he could see that my other hand was up and he said, “I did know your other hand was raised. And the song was saying 'and I will lift my hands and praise you through the storm.' So I was joining you in that and supporting you.”

God is so, so kind. He has not, nor will He ever, abandon me.

Shocked, But Still Standing

 I didn't post this update sooner because we needed time to sit with the kids and Cindy to let them know what we learned today. We prayed about how much to tell our kids (they are 19, 22, 23, and 24). Ultimately, we landed where we landed back in 2012. When God restored our marriage, we committed to always be as honest as we could with our kids, even if it's hard. Radical honesty. Each one of them has responded well in the past to knowing the truth, because we have worked hard to cultivate this with them. Our family is strong. We are very close to one another and God gave us peace about how much we would tell them.

This post is going to be pretty long (per usual). We learned some things that needed to be discussed as a family first, but now we are sharing with you. We have appreciated all of the love and support we have received and we wanted to continue to share as I know many of you are walking with us through this.

We received fairly shocking news today from the Wash U/Barnes Jewish oncologists this morning. Since Kris' diagnosis back in August, everyone talked about how treatable Multiple Myeloma is. How it comes back, but you just treat it again. They all kept saying, "Well, of all the cancers to get, at least it's this one." I intentionally didn't do any research beyond a basic understanding what is happening in his body, because I knew it would not be healthy for my mind and I am extremely protective of my peace these days. I have fought too hard to be careless with the gift God has given me in that regard. Today, however, we had a reality check that neither of us were expecting, and it kind of knocked the wind out of us.

After your first bone marrow transplant, they hope to give you 5-7 years before the cancer returns. Without the transplant, it's 3-5 before it re-occurs. When it does return, and that is the nature of this particular cancer, they can treat it again. But each time they treat it, the time between re-occurrences gets shorter. Statically, people with this cancer can live another 10 years. Some longer, some less, but on average, it becomes fatal within 10 years We really just didn't know this and it was a hard thing to hear, but so very appreciated. I work best with as much info as possible and I felt a bit of a relief to have this piece of information, however disruptive it was in the moment. It was a moment. And there will be more moments in the next days, weeks, months, and years. But it was still just a moment in time.

Essentially, from a purely statistical standpoint (and not factoring the miracles we know God can work), most Multiple Myeloma patients do die from it or from illnesses related to it. Because the body can only handle so much cancer and treatment, there are several things, including kidney failure, that can be fatal. Kris will also have a higher risk of getting other blood cancers like leukemia as time passes.

Obviously, God has the final say. We pray for a miracle, but ultimately, we want His will, not ours. That's how we live now. We aren't going to just sit down and wait for Kris to die. And we aren't going to live in fear of that day. But I think it's going to change how we approach life. Knowing we could have as few as 10 years left together and that our kids could lose their father, it will impact how we move forward. I believe it will make us more intentional in our relationships. Even if God works a miracle, this changes things in how we move. It is extremely important for us to do two things and do them well: cherish and invest in time with our kids and loved ones, and serve the Lord until our last breath.

There are risks with the bone marrow transplant itself but only 1% result in death so the prognosis for that procedure isn't too scary, though the process before, during, and after the transplant is a little intimidating, especially to me as the caregiver. But none of it is more than what I can handle because my strength doesn't come from me. And beyond that, my sister who just happens to be a nurse moved 6 minutes away from us, literally within 2 weeks of this diagnosis. God has been putting things in place, to continue to provide me personally with an abundance of reassurance, support and emotional safety. I have not had one moment on this journey where I have felt alone.

We also learned something else today, which was not conveyed to us previously. Kris will actually be getting traditional chemotherapy before the transplant. It's a day long treatment that they will do in the hospital before the transplant. This was also something we were not aware of. He will get sick. He could possibly get mouth sores, lose weight, and he will lose all his hair within a month or so of the chemo. But we are confident we will also get through all of that. The risk of infection while Kris' new bone marrow begins working is 1%. This feels like a relief, especially after his hospital-induced pneumonia.

Kris needs to do two more cycles of treatment at the Cancer Center at Mercy to get his counts down lower, which we think should be about 6 weeks. So we're looking at the beginning of the year at the earliest before they start the stem cell harvesting. Basically they hook him up to a the same machine they use for dialysis. It will run his blood through it, extracting the stem cells, then returning his blood to his system. They will extract enough for two transplants, freeze it, and then use half of it for the procedure. I have no idea what they do with the other half, but presumably they will freeze it for future use if needed or in the event they need it this first time around?

If they don't harvest the stem cells before he starts the chemo, the chemo will destroy all of them and he literally wouldn't be able to survive the transplant. It's like a 5 day process to harvest the stem cells, going every single day to get injections. Then the actual procedure to harvest will take about 6 hours, and I can't even be with him for that due to the space at the center.

After that we will schedule the bone marrow transplant. He has one week in the hospital for the chemo treatment and they will manage his side effects from that. Then they will do the transplant and once his counts begin to go back up, they can release him, so they're still saying he will be there for 3 weeks. The next month at home he will continue to experience the effects of the chemo, but then his health will stabilize and in a few months, his hair will begin to grow back.

They also confirmed today that he will still get treatment of some sort, even if it is just maintenance, for the rest of his life. Additionally, he will be on the Revlimid the rest of his life.

The good news on the transplant part/hospital stay is that visitors are allowed and there are no set hours. He won't be isolated or in a bubble. It will be up to us if we have people wear masks, and I'll feel better if visitors do. But if anyone even thinks they have even a hint of a cold, they should not visit.

We don't know what the future holds, but we know that this world is not our home. To live is Christ, and we will make that most of the time we are given. To die is gain and we long for the day to hear Him say, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

Available

Some events have transpired over the last month or so that have led me to a very specific place. Today, I began to see all of the fingerprints of God in those events intertwine. I got a glimpse of what he is calling me to. But, I only saw it as I walked forward in obedience to what he has placed on my heart.

About a month ago, I went to a church with a friend. The goal was to support this friend and try to obtain resources that were needed. The first thing that struck me as we walked into this church was the presence of two police officers, in their uniforms, sitting at a table in the foyer. At first, it struck me as a little odd. I put the thought in the back of my head and we went into the service. They were doing a send off for a new church plant and they called everyone up front that was going to be a part of it. One of the police officers went up, and I suddenly realized he was a member of the church and would be moving on to this church plant. It changed my perspective of him being there, in uniform. They called the family and friends up who were supporting those embarking on that mission, and the other police officer went up and laid his hand on the other's back.

I remember thinking, "Wow. That's pretty cool. These guys are in uniform, but actively participating in the service." It was a big church and I thought, sure, if you have the resources and members with a heart for serving in what they are trained in, it just makes sense. Beyond that, I had been planning to sit down and talk to a local officer I knew, as I had some questions I wanted to gain some clarity on. So, after the service, I went up and started talking to them. I was so curious and intrigued by them being there, in uniform, ready to assist in whatever way was needed. They were so friendly and kind, receptive to listening and it just blew my mind. I don't even know why--I am not sure what I expected.

After we left, I remember talking to Kris about seeing the officers and their purpose there. I was telling Kris that I didn't really know how God would use the Mental Health Coach certification I received in July. I don't see myself taking clients and coaching one on one in any formal setting, though I am open to it, should God lead me there. But I knew it would be used, in some way, as he has already been bringing people to me who need someone to walk through life with. I wouldn't have gone through the training if I hadn't wanted to serve with it in some capacity, but I didn't know what shape it would take-I tried not to envision much about it, as I didn't want to get ahead of God. I wanted to stay present with where I am right now and what I can offer at this time. The thought was just out there, floating around. The training actually helped me to understand pieces of my own story in new and deeper ways, and I was learning how to really step into the pain people face on a day to day basis.

So, when I saw those officers, something started in my heart. I thought about how we are all different and we all have different gifts. Those officers love the Lord, and want to use what they are trained for, to help the family of God in whatever ways God may call them, even if it's just answering random questions from some girl that doesn't even go to their church.

The bottom line was this: they were AVAILABLE.

So over the last few weeks, this has been on my heart more and more. This idea of using the training I have received and just being available. Last week, I took a brave step forward and talked to our prayer team leader about my heart and what I wanted to be able to do within our body of believers in Ferguson. My heart is deeply stirred around the idea of mental health and stepping into the very real pain that people walk through. I had told the pastors when I was still doing the training that I would love to possibly have a mental health team in our church and I believe God will guide and develop that.

Our church is a big proponent of prayer. It is focused on, highlighted, and reiterated week after week. People are encouraged to bring their cares to the Lord, and to our church family, who will listen and pray and offer support. But as this has been stirring in me, I felt like there might be times where more is needed.

What about the person who is having a really hard morning, or someone who might be in crisis? A few minutes of prayer simply may not be long enough to really be the Church to someone else. One plants, one waters and God makes it grow. Sometimes, a person needs more. A little more time. A little more prayer. A little more opportunity to just unload the heavy weight they are carrying simply by talking about it and weeping over it to bring the cleansing that comes through our tears. You can't do ALL of that in a few minutes at the end of a church service.

Last week, as this had all been swirling around in my brain, I took a brave step forward (believe me, I was SCARED but did it anyway) and went to a meeting with our prayer team, unsure where what I wanted to do would fit in. I talked to the lady heading it up and shared my heart. She had expressed she too was a mental health coach, and that another member was wanting to start a FamGroup around mental health. This affirmed for me that God most definitely has a plan for The House to be a place where mental health is held tenderly, where people can come and find true respite from the weariness that is life. She advised she would talk to the powers that be so we could begin to see what this would look like. I went to her and I just told her that I wanted to be available. Before, during, and after our services. So if the prayer team identified anyone who might need to be loved on a little more, they would be able to bring that person to me or anyone else God calls to this in our tiny piece of the world. The Bible tells us to comfort those with the comfort we have received. It tells us to weep with those who weep. To mourn with those who mourn. The best way to do that is to get into the trenches with the person who is experiencing pain, loss, heartbreak or grief. To listen. To pray. To give godly counsel, should God direct. But mostly to remind others that they are not alone.

We didn't get a chance to connect during the week as there was a big event that was taking place. This morning, I decided that I was just going to get up and go up to church early. I texted the prayer team leader and let her know. She advised she was not going to be there and hadn't had a chance to coordinate anything yet. So she gave me a couple names of people and encouraged me to tell them I was there and what I wanted to do. I texted one of the people right away, knowing full well they may not even see it, as church had already started.

I was anxious and felt the roil in my stomach on my drive to church. I sat in my car and I asked God to use me. To help me to walk bravely forward, even in the midst of my fear.

I walked into the building and within minutes the anxiety I was feeling physically began to abate. I was able to connect with some friends that I don't usually see at the service I attend. I told a couple people what I was doing there, as many were surprised to see my face before 11:30am.

Around 11:15, I went into the sanctuary to find my seat. I had been told about situations during both the first and second service where people may have needed what I was wanting to provide, and I felt like I had missed some opportunity, because I hadn't verbally told those in charge why I was there. I had texted one of the people in charge to let her know, but I hadn't shared with the connections pastor. I think I was nervous about how to have that conversation face to face. There's a big part of me that feels a lot safer with the written word. But when I use my voice, I tend to cower a little bit. The enemy threw this lie at me: "Are you SURE God is calling you to this? Maybe you're wrong. Maybe you aren't hearing the voice of God." The enemy wants to keep me in fear, because he knows how paralyzing it can be. But after letting two opportunities go by, with 4 minutes before the third service started, I took a breath and I went over to talk to the pastor. I just briefly shared my thoughts and how I wanted to be available. He said they would talk about it and figure out what it would look like. I went back to my seat and the service began.

We weren't even done with the THIRD song before the pastor came and tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to come with him. I was like, "Wow, that was fast!" I didn't know what he wanted, but I knew what I would find when I followed. I knew that I was going to find someone who needed a little extra care, a little extra support, and a little extra love. And God, because He is who He is, knew that I ALSO needed this experience, on so many levels. It would have been enough just to know God was affirming what I knew He was calling me to. But God.

It shouldn't have surprised me that the issue the person was dealing with was cancer. I remember all too well-because not a lot of time has passed since I began that journey myself-what it was like to go back and forth between trusting God and crying out to him to bring peace into a situation that was far outside of my control. Fighting fear with faith. Putting what I believe into practice. And here was this woman on her own journey, who was having a moment and needed support. There were three of us in the room with this beautiful woman, and each one of us has been touched by cancer in different ways. Mostly we listened. Much of the time, that's all someone needs in a moment of deep grief. They need to feel safe to say as much or as little as they need. When she cried, I cried. As my tears flowed, I asked God to allow me to take on some of her grief, to ease the burden even a tiny bit. As I prayed this prayer, one of the ladies was praying out loud and what she was speaking to this woman was also speaking to me and helping to soothe my heart in places where I still hurt, even though mostly I am confident throughout this journey with Kris. I am not unsettled about Kris' cancer, and feel a great deal of peace, but there are still moments where the enemy tries to come at me with lies and we're getting ready to talk to Wash U this week about the bone marrow transplant.

But my eyes are on my Savior. And like always, he showed up. I was comforted through my friend Cynthia's prayer. But I really began to sob when this woman carrying her own heavy burden cried out to God on MY and my husband's behalf. How God ministered to me with the same comfort and care he has called me to give, from the mouth and heart of someone who is also struggling with huge life events.

This is what God does when you walk forward in obedience. I'm just here for the ride. He simply asks me to be available. So I will be.

God's Timing Just Makes Sense

 I've been thinking a lot over the last week about God's timing.

I have legitimately been afraid of my husband dying since before I ever met him.  Until about 13 years ago, I never envisioned growing old.  I never dreamed of my kids growing up to become adults.  I never imagined I would be beautifully broken, unconditionally loved, and truly seen and known.  I didn't know it could happen for me.  I have spent the entirety of our marriage, up to this point, terrified that Kris would die.  That he would abandon me.  And that when he did, I would begin a downward spiral that I would never come out of.  I have always thought that if Kris dies first, I'll never survive it.  We have a long running joke that I have to die first, because we both knew he would handle it better.  This particular fear has haunted me for decades.

Because I am acutely aware of this fear and no longer wish to be ruled by it, I have pressed into the hard work of making a new groove, one in which my first thought during a crisis isn't that he will surely die.  When Kris got Covid during 2021, I came face to face with this fear.  Not because he was dying.  I had no evidence that he would.  But the day I had to take him to the ER because of what was probably a faulty oxygen reader and the fear that was being stirred up by the media, that fear was all I could see.  At that time, we were always hearing about people who went into the hospital and never came out.  So, as I left my husband at the ER and drove away sobbing, I told God, "I'm not ready.  I don't want to do this.  I'm not ready to bury my husband."  It was in that desperate moment when I heard God say that EVEN IF that happened, I would be okay.  It was the first time I began to believe that if my deepest fear was realized, I could and I WOULD survive it.  Within minutes of this realization and just enough peace settling in my heart, Kris called and said they told him to go home.  He was there no more than 15 minutes, checked out and released.  I felt at the time that my obedience in accepting that I would be okay if I lost my husband was rewarded by my husband coming straight back home.  I was literally only 7 minutes into my drive home when he told me to come back.

Does that mean that the fear is completely gone?  

No.  

But the fear no longer has the same hold it once had on me.  I know a truth about myself now that I repeat to myself when the fear comes to my mind: I WILL BE OKAY.  And if the fear persists, I surrender the fear.  And if it still persists, I call on the name of Jesus or if that feels too hard, reach out to a trusted friend who will do it for me.  And then I move forward.  I no longer stay stuck, rooted in fear.  It still visits from time to time, but it is no longer allowed permanent residence here.  One day I'll go completely no contact with fear.  If not in this life (though that's my prayer), then the next.  

Since that event in 2021, Kris has gotten sick or hurt several times.  And every single time, my fear of abandonment is triggered.  The last time was at the end of March, just before Easter.  Kris had gotten Covid and had a tough time fighting it.  As he was still in the thick of it, I got Influenza A.  As he began to improve from Covid, he got the flu from me.  Still coughing a lot and weak from that, he developed Bronchitis.  It seemed like such a crazy 6 weeks!  Who gets three big infections back to back to back?  Looking back, it's clear it was the cancer.  He has probably had the cancer for at least 8 months, and so his body's ability to heal itself was weakened and of course he couldn't get better as quickly.  

Those 6 weeks tested and tried me.  It was very difficult for me to regulate my nervous system.  My safe place was unable to support me in the way I needed.  The patient reassurance I was used to just stopped completely, because my husband was so tired and weak and sick.  And I understood this at an intellectual level, but because I am very much still in a place of just starting to heal (even though there has been SO MUCH healing!), my body and my emotions were completely running on opposite sides and it was all I could do to meld them together and try to keep myself sane.  And while there was growth, and I walked through it far better than I would have in previous years, I still felt like a petulant child at times.  I needed my husband.  I needed his conversation, his time, his emotional support, his physical help around the house, his ability to read my emotions or body language and step in if a panic attack was rising.  He brings so much to the table, and I felt like I was failing at taking care of my husband who needed me.  Often when he is sick, I look at how I handle it and feel that I bring nothing to the table.  It's a struggle not to listen to the lies.

When he finally began to get better, he started to get back to the Kris I knew before.  The one who had worked hard to learn how to tune into my emotions and partner with me in moving through the harder seasons.  So my world began to settle and I could feel my equilibrium return.  All was right with my world.  I felt truly connected to him again and my sense of safety was restored.  But I left that experience disappointed with my "performance."  Shame tried to creep in and lie to me and tell me that I would never be able to put his needs before my own.  That when push came to shove, I would make it about me.  Whether intentional or not, I would somehow be unable to regulate my emotions and that would lead to me having a meltdown, which would lead to Kris having to try to deal with THAT while also just trying to stay alive.

God taught me a lot through that experience a couple of months ago, even though I still felt like I didn't quite get it right.  He continues to give me opportunities to grow in this area.  To learn how to step back, and truly sacrifice for someone else, because he knows that this is my heart's desire.  I have been asking God for the last year, "More of you, less of me."  I wrestle with this need to be seen, and I want to surrender that.  And the best way I can think to do that is to become less.  So I was surprised (and I wasn't) that God gave me another chance so soon on the back of a really, REALLY hard 6 week sickness roller coaster.  It seems to me that God knew it was time to move me a little further...his timing is perfect, and he had been preparing me, leading up to this very moment.  

Shortly after Kris was so sick and I thought he would die in 2021, I began Pain Reprocessing Therapy, where we have really sunk our teeth into trauma recovery, in an effort to also try to manage my physical pain.  I have spent two years working to understand myself, to navigate through life in healthier ways, to grow and learn how to love myself.  Within the last year, through therapy, I finally understood why Kris getting sick or hurt is so disruptive to me (triggers the abandonment fear), and why I treat him the way I do in those moments.  It's like a non-stop panic attack, and like lighting, it would strike at whoever was in its path.  There were many nights during that six week infection spell where Kris would be so exhausted as I had meltdown after meltdown because my safe place wasn't feeling so safe to me.  He found himself having to tend to me, when it  should have been the other way around.  I felt AWFUL.  But God is gracious and has been teaching me, and so ultimately I gave myself extra grace, and celebrated how I had grown, even though I wasn't where I felt I needed to be. And I prayed that the next time I was given a chance to grow in this area, I would do better.  

Well, well, well...if it isn't another opportunity to learn how to give and sacrificed for Kris the way he has given and sacrificed for me for 25 years.  And so far, so good.  😉 Not to toot my own horn (or maybe it is, to celebrate the growth), but I haven't gotten snippy or sarcastic or frustrated with Kris at all through any of this.  God has been controlling my mind, which helps me control my tongue, and God has given me an abundance of patience that I wasn't sure I even possessed.  I'm not naive enough to think that anxious Jamie won't slip out in a moment of weakness (because the exhaustion is real), but God has given me a calm spirit and a quietness in my soul in how I move through this.   Before therapy, two years ago, you would have witnessed a very different approach to this current challenge.

Also in regards to timing, ONE week before we first heard the word cancer, our son moved back to St. Louis from Columbia, MO.  One month before THAT, my sister moved to St. Louis from Kansas.  She (and Kaleb) are now just 6-7 minutes away.  Because of this, both of them have been able to support our family in ways that wouldn't have been possible before.  None of us really understood the timing of the moves when it was all happening, but we all felt like it was the right call for everyone.  As Katherine was moving out of our old home, we would need to figure out what to do with it.  A few months ago my sister and I began talking about her moving here.  I felt it in my bones that she needed to come here.  I didn't pressure her, but I did encourage her from time to time.  I thought it was just because we had connected, truly connected, as sisters for the first time ever, and I wanted to be able to nurture that more consistently.  It turns out that I would need my sister just as much as she needed me.  

Olivia has also been in a summer program that will lead to an internship, and it literally JUST ended the week Kris went to the hospital.  So Olivia's time has freed up considerably.  And I have seen Olivia step up at home, without even being asked.  Making sure the dog is fed, doing the dishes, doing my laundry, washing the pool towels, and just being ready to help with whatever is needed.  I'm so proud.  Maybe it's because Olivia is my baby, but it wasn't until I watched this play out in front of me that I realized just how adult my adult Olivia is.

When we bought our house in 2022, we knew that because of me, we would need main level everything.  So that was a requirement in a home. We didn't know how less than 2 years later, it would be essential for Kris as well.  We closed on our house just 5 days before the church we attend had its first church service.  We knew then that God's timing was perfect, as we moved into the house and then immediately began attending The House.  We had been anticipating it's start for over a year, so to see both things come together at the same time was a beautiful thing to behold.  And I could never have imagined how perfect our house would be for such a time as this, or how The House would show up for us this past week.  Listen: through babies, emergencies, losses, and my 3 neck surgeries, we have always been blessed with support.  But at The House, we have had it in abundance.  All of our kids and many friends have stepped up and stepped in, helping in a variety of ways.  

I'm not a gamer really, but this image of me playing a video game came to my mind.  I've been going through life (this game) level after level.  Trying to learn how to play to the game, working to improve my game play, and after years of crashing my car into a wall all the time, I have finally leveled up.  I have made it my mission not just to study the game, but to get in it and PLAY.  I want to play for that prize that endures, and so I press on.  But like with many video games, there comes a boss level.  This cancer, it's boss level.  It's going to be harder than the other levels.  It's going to likely involve many sleepless nights, playing nonstop, trying to make it through.  But just like with a game, the boss CAN be defeated.  This is boss level, and I have been preparing for this my entire marriage.  I can do hard things.  I can be brave.  I can, because of Jesus in me.  That is what sustains me.  My hope is in the Lord.  What can mere man (or cancer) do to us?  

A Kinda Wild Cancer Ride

When there are a million thoughts swirling around in my head, it's hard to know where to start.  Perhaps letting four days go by without sitting down to really work through it all by way of writing was a miscalculation on my part, but this is the first morning I've felt motivated to get the computer out and commit.  Facebook posts/updates are easier, less intimidating, because I can just quickly spew what is happening in my brain and move on.  Those posts are a band-aid when it comes to the balm that writing is to my soul.  To put my thoughts down by way of the blog requires a lot more energy, time and effort, because this is where I really lay it all down.  It's the place I come when life is too overwhelming and I don't know what else to do.  So I write.  And I write.  And I write.  And I begin to understand what is happening in my brain and I work to bring my body in line.

Not even two months ago, I heard a new song.  Well, let's back up a little.  I've been obsessed with the band Judah and the Lion since I saw the movie The Starling on Netflix, which featured their song "Find Another Reason Why."  That song has significant meaning for Kris and I and our marriage.  It made the list of about 20 songs we call "Our Songs."  So over the last year, I have been obsessively collecting new favorite songs by Judah and the Lion.  

During this same year, I became acquainted and then immediately obsessed with the artist Ellie Holcomb.  Between her voice and deep, powerful lyrics, I can't seem to get enough of her.  So my musical worlds collided recently when I saw that Judah and the Lion did a song with Ellie Holcomb called Kinda Wild.  I shared it with Kris, maybe 2-3 weeks ago.  He loved it immediately as well and life moved on.  I continued to listen to the song several times a week, as I often do with anything new that I can't get out of my brain.  Any time the song would come into my mind, I would listen to it.  I kept thinking there's a real message to grasp onto here, and so I kept filling my mind with it, having no idea the impact it would have in the coming weeks.

That brings us to today, a mere 4 days since the words "blood cancer" entered our lives.  Kris had been experiencing some back pain and other pain in his obliques for a month or so.  He thought it was a strain, and tried to wear a back brace and do less heavy lifting.  Over the last couple of weeks, his low back pain has worsened and on Thursday, he had trouble getting into his car to go to work.  When I got home from working in office that morning, Kris decided to take my car to work (I drive an SUV which sits up higher and it is essential for my own spine issues).  When he was trying to get out at the gas station on his way, he began having excruciating pain while standing.  Prior, his pain was only really bad if he tried to transition (sitting, bending, etc...), but because it became nearly unbearable while standing also, Kris drove himself to the chiropractor.  He had called to try to get in to see him a couple of hours early, but when he got there, and he spoke to the chiro on the phone, the chiro told him he needed to go to the ER or urgent care.  Kris then called me to get my thoughts on ER vs. urgent care.  Of course having experienced no shortage of back/neck issues over the last 2 decades, I told him to go to the ER, knowing that whatever was going on would be easier for an ER to handle, as they have access to more equipment and treatment protocols.  So, he drove himself to Mercy and some time on Thursday afternoon our world suddenly came into focus in a way it hasn't before.

Tomorrow, Kris will have a bone marrow biopsy done to verify that he has the most common blood cancer, Multiple Myeloma.  This cancer eats through the bones/spine, leaving little holes everywhere.  The bones are weakened and the person with this cancer is highly susceptible to bone fractures.  So, in addition to the cancer itself, the likely cause of Kris' back pain is at least one (possibly more) compression fracture at T11/T12.  He was able to get up and move around, take a few walks using a back brace on steroids and a walker, which was significantly better than the day before.  Finally having the ability to move around a bit more was a relief for Kris, and he has been able to alternate between laying in the bed and sitting in a chair.  Big events happening for the Bishops this weekend-so much excitement between bed and chair.  I say that in jest, but since he was bed-ridden and frustrated at the confinement before, now at least he can add a little variety into his day.  You have to find a way to celebrate during the infinite hours of boredom that are the reality of any hospital stay.

While they keep saying they will be able to give us more information and a treatment plan once the biopsy confirms it is Multiple Myeloma, they keep saying he definitely has this blood cancer.  The prognosis is good, and they keep telling us this is a very treatable cancer.  After 3-4 months of meds and weekly visits with a hematologist, he should go into remission, at which point he will need to have a bone marrow transplant.  They have come a really long way because it sounds like they won't use a bone marrow donor--they will take Kris' own stem cells to do it.  I am fascinated when I think about the medical advancements we are able to experience.

So what does any of this have to do with a song by Judah and the Lion and Ellie Holcomb called Kinda Wild?  Stay with me--I promise I'll get there.

Yesterday morning while I was driving to the hospital (I have to come home and sleep in my own bed out of necessity and kindness to my spine), I was listening to the Bible and heard this from Philippians 1:

18 But what does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice. Yes, and I will continue to rejoice, 19 for I know that through your prayers and God’s provision of the Spirit of Jesus Christ what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance.] 20 I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. 21 For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. 22 If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! 23 I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; 24 but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. 25 Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, 26 so that through my being with you again your boasting in Christ Jesus will abound on account of me. 27 Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. Then, whether I come and see you or only hear about you in my absence, I will know that you stand firm in the one Spirit, striving together as one for the faith of the gospel 28 without being frightened in any way by those who oppose you. This is a sign to them that they will be destroyed, but that you will be saved—and that by God. 29 For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe in him, but also to suffer for him, 30 since you are going through the same struggle you saw I had, and now hear that I still have.

I have always loved this passage, and Kris and I both have had discussions about this.  While we are here, we have a job to do.  As long as God chooses to give us breath, we know that we are called to love God and love others.  To live is Christ, to die is gain.  Words like cancer bring the reality back that we are not promised a long or healthy life.  The Bible assures us that if we follow Christ, in this life we WILL have trouble.  So Kris and I have been pretty accepting of trials and trouble in our lives.  No, it's not enjoyable to go through hard things, but we do try to welcome the troubles, because we understand that they are going to mold and shape us, and give us opportunities to deepen our faith.  So while we are here, we will learn and grow and love and show grace.  But let me tell you, we look forward to the day when our faith becomes sight and our pain is taken away.  

And then I heard this, from chapter 2:

25 Meanwhile, I thought I should send Epaphroditus back to you. He is a true brother, co-worker, and fellow soldier. And he was your messenger to help me in my need. 26 I am sending him because he has been longing to see you, and he was very distressed that you heard he was ill. 27 And he certainly was ill; in fact, he almost died. But God had mercy on him—and also on me, so that I would not have one sorrow after another. That last line, "so that I would not have one sorrow after another," really struck a chord with me. And I found myself intensely grateful for God's timing. I have told several people over the last few days how grateful I am that I had two years of therapy under my belt before cancer entered our world. How our God loves us and knows when we are ready to face the next challenge. Just like God did with Paul, God has mercy on us, giving us time to breathe and heal in between sorrows. I know sometimes it can feel like you are being hit by one thing after another, and maybe that's true, but a time of rest does and will come. So, in a lot of ways, I feel like this was the right time for this particular adventure. I was not surprised by this diagnosis, and while I would prefer this not be our new normal, today I do not feel overwhelmingly burdened by the reality of it. Perhaps I am still in a little bit of shock, but overall, I am simply at peace. In thinking about the realities, in talking to people, I have a faith that has given me a peace I cannot explain. And yet, when I am alone, especially in the car driving, I have felt the heavy burden of the enemy's attacks on my mind. Rapid-fire, incessant thoughts fly by, trying to take me out. A different Jamie wouldn't recognize that they were happening. I would just follow the rabbit trail until I had planned out a funeral in my mind and envisioned what the grief would be like. Now, I am able to see what is happening in my brain, and while I haven't been able to fully hold onto the peace at every turn, I have been able to speak the name of Jesus over these mental attacks that want to keep me held in a place of fear. His perfect love drives out my fear and while one day I hope to just live in that consistently, for now, I will claim the victories he has already been giving me. And now to bring us full circle... Once my Bible reading plan finished, I turned on the song Kinda Wild, because the urge was so strong. I hadn't actually listened to it since sometime last week, so I turned it on, not knowing how it would all collide.

This time, I heard the song with new ears. The first thing I heard was how loved I am: Are you singing

Cause I love your melodies

Are you dancing

Wrapping your arms around me

Are you laughing

Cause I like to make you smile

Is it just a whisper

Cause that tends to be your style

Are you screaming

This love with you it can be kinda wild

As those words poured out of the speaker, I felt so much comfort and I felt love.  I felt seen and known by the God who saved me.  It felt like a hug.

As I listened to the chorus, I thought back to the conversations Kris and I have had about this song, and about all the ways it has impacted my life.  

Come and change my focus

I don't notice where you're going near enough

Come and change my focus

Help us know what you've been doing over us
Come and change my focus.  How many times do we need to pray that prayer?  And imagine if we prayed that prayer often how different things would be?  So many times we simply need a shift in focus.  We need reminders of the bigger picture.  This one horrible thing we face doesn't even scratch the surface of all the blessings and good experiences that are all around us.  We just have to have our focus changed.  We need to be reminded of where God is going, not where we WANT him to be going.  We need to beg for God to reveal what he has been doing over us.

Kris and I are acutely aware of the growth and work God has done in our lives and marriage over the last two years especially.  I know I keep going on and on about therapy, but it is an absolute game changer.  Being able to understand yourself and why you do the things you do, and then being given tools to grow and mature emotionally is absolutely essential if you want to begin to feel peace.  You have to understand your story, and then be able to engage with it, so that you can move forward, heal, and grow.  My therapy process has in turn impacted my marriage in big ways.  It has given us an opportunity to learn to speak to each other different.  As I understand what I need, I can speak up and Kris is able to have clear direction on how to best love and support me.  And as I learn to give myself grace, I am learning to give those around me grace as well.

So while we are indeed surprised by the cancer, we do not feel ill-equipped, on a spiritual level, to battle it.  There's a line at the end of the song that says "Are you calling me out of my mind?"  Come, Jesus come  Call me out of my mind.  My mind is a mess and a minefield littered with generations of fears and anxieties that don't belong.  I need my focus to shift off of the what ifs.  I need to be called out of my mind into the mind of Christ.  I need to run into the arms of a God whose love for me is, in fact, kinda wild.

Therapy MIrrors The Ocean

I've been thinking a lot this week about how much therapy mirrors the ocean.  It makes sense, considering I have spent the week in Panama City Beach, celebrating my anniversary.  I haven't been to the ocean since BEFORE I began therapy, and I found myself flooded with thoughts all week, as I enjoyed the time spent by and in the water.  Water is soothing and healing for a lot of people.  For some of us, while all forms of water are powerful for our brains and bodies, the ocean brings us into a deeper connection with ourselves, our Creator, and the world around us. 

In terms of nature itself, my husband feels and sees God's beauty and power most intensely in the mountains.  And while I can connect to God and his beauty through nature in the mountains, it isn't as deep.  For me, it's most deeply felt at the beach, surrounded by the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.  There is something magical and therapeutic about simply watching and listening to these sounds.  I think of the contrast between the power of the ocean, mirroring the great power of God, and sometimes the stillness of it, mirroring also a Father who loves us deeply and wants to swim with us through this life.  

At the beach, there is a flag system: blue, green, yellow, red and double red.  Each one of these flags serves as a warning, a gauge you can use to know what you are getting yourself into, should you choose to venture in.  And as we have watched these flags change throughout the week, the picture of how therapy and the ocean are related has been ever-present in my mind.  Therapy is hard work.  It is dangerous work.  It is unsettling at times, risky at others.  It can be filled with all kinds of danger, especially if you have never let yourself feel what is happening in your body and brain as a result of trauma.

But, on the other side of that spectrum, therapy is beautiful.  It is liberating.  It is powerful and can carry with a force that can change the trajectory of your life.  I don't claim to know a lot about the ocean, or really therapy even.  I know very little about how the tides work, but I do know that they ebb and flow.  And like the tides, when you throw yourself into the work of therapy, there are ebbs and flows.  And it is in thinking about this, that the flag system has cemented itself into my brain.

Let's start with the blue flag.  When this flag is flying, there is a higher chance that you will see or be affected by stinging marine life, such as stingrays, jellyfish or man o' war.   You can get in the water with this flag present, but you have to know that there is a risk.  The flag doesn't mean that you have to avoid the water.  It simply means that you need to pay attention and be on guard, so that as you venture forth, you are not unwittingly impacted by these potential dangers.  Stingrays, for instance, are usually only a threat when they feel threatened.  You can coexist in the ocean while they are present.  But if you do not move carefully and stay on the lookout for them, you could inadvertently cause harm to yourself or them.  

Those who have experienced trauma in their life oftentimes have triggers and PTSD or, for some of us, Complex PTSD (c-PTSD) from trauma that impacted us over extended periods of time, especially during childhood.  For some, the simple act of stepping foot into a therapist office poses risk.  Risk of being triggered by a memory.  In and of itself, being triggered isn't necessarily dangerous to the individual feeling it, though at times it can seem that way to us.    One of the safest places to feel triggered is in that very office, with someone who sees you and knows how to help you navigate through it.  It can feel scary to enter therapy with a blue flag, with things present that can cause us very real physical pain.  But like the stinging marine life, you can coexist with this danger.  The risk to you physical body is low.  Yes, getting stung by a jellyfish can hurt, but in the grand scheme of things, the pain is lower and the danger/threat to your life is not as high as say, interacting with a shark in the ocean.  The threat to your life and well-being remain low under blue conditions, and in most cases, you are unlikely to be impacted negatively by this threat.

A green flag means that there is low hazard and while the conditions in the water are calm, you should still exercise caution when entering the water.  There are times during the therapy process where you will feel relatively calm and safe.  You should still be on the lookout for the conditions to change at any moment, but you can usually rest better and experience higher degrees of healing during the green flag.  You can relax a little more and really enjoy the beauty around you.  But because the ocean is not fully known and it's power is vast, you still need to be aware of what is happening around you, so that you can maintain the same level of safety.  A green flag during therapy for me typically means that I am able to clearly understand and then articulate how I am feeling.  I can be curious about what is happening in my body and brain, and I find this to be the most productive in terms of forward momentum in the healing journey.

A yellow flag indicates medium hazard, which means that the surf or currents are stronger, though still mild enough that the threat is low.  During this flag, you can move through the water or against the current and make progress.  While here in FL this week, we have experienced yellow and red flags.  As happens with the ocean when you are in it, if you float or simply try to stand in place, you will be moved.  You can set your sights on where you began, by affixing your eyes on a certain building or where you staked your claim on the beach.  But without moving against the current at all, you will continue to be pulled further back or further away from where you began.

This, to me, indicates that in therapy, we are responsible for the movement we make.  As Kris and I knew we would be moved by the force of the ocean, we would forcibly move ourselves against the current, keeping our eyes fixed on where we started.  In yellow flag conditions, it was not difficult at all to keep the forward progress going.  But if we didn't move against the current at all, we would be pulled in a direction we weren't trying to go.  With therapy, if you don't put in the work to move against all the things that hold you back, it will be difficult to really make progress towards your end goal.

Most of our time in the water this week was during red flag conditions.  This means that there is a high hazard for high surf and strong currents.  During these days, it almost felt like a losing battle to try to move against the current.  We would take a few steps, only to feel ourselves pulled back the way we came.  We would swim and try to get closer to where we started, or where we were trying to go, only to look back at the beach and find we had made little to no progress.

Here's the truth though about proceeding with therapy during a time when the waters around you feel turbulent.  It's okay.  It's okay that you don't make a lot of progress.  It's not a race and it's not about reaching your goal in an instant.  We have to understand that therapy and healing take time.  A LOT of it.  And if you want to move through the ocean against the current during a red flag, you have to understand that it will be harder and at times you will have to FIGHT against what is holding you back.  And when you do that, you will find that you DO indeed make progress, however slow. Even tiny bits of progress are worthy of being noted and celebrated.

The last flag is a double red flag.  In these conditions, the water is closed to the public, because the risk to self is too high.  It's too dangerous to venture in, even if you want to make progress.  In my therapy sessions, if we touch on a topic that just feels too dangerous, I don't run from it.  HOWEVER, there is wisdom in WAITING to uncover it.  It's okay, if it's too hard or too heavy, to allow yourself time out of the water.  It's okay to wait until the conditions and threat are lessened before you get back in the water and continue forward.

And you might wonder, "Well, why do I have to go against the current anyway?"  I suppose you don't.  But in terms of relating this to therapy, many of us have spent our lives going in one direction.  And that direction is usually away from the person we were truly created to be.  We build our identities in all things that are unhealthy or unsafe.  We engage in behavior that is meant to protect us, but oftentimes, is harmful.  We put a mask on what is really happening inside of us, and we let the currents pull us wherever they may.  If we are not aware of what is going on around us, doing this can lead us into situations that pose very real danger to us.  While just letting the current lead us, we get caught up in addictions, affairs, self-loathing, hatred of others, selfishness and pride.  While floating in the water is relaxing and enjoyable for a time, we cannot be content to just stay where we are.  Many of us are carrying around wounds, some decades old.  And these wounds blind us to the fact that the flag is double red and we shouldn't even be in the water.  We are fooled into thinking that this is the right way, because it's the easiest way, all the while we are losing bits of ourselves to a harsh and dangerous ocean.

So what is the point here?  It's this:  therapy has many different layers and healing is not linear.  There will be days where the ocean you are in will feel calm and you can take many steps forward.  There will also be days where you need to be more cautious, days you have to work harder to gain forward momentum, and days where you actually have to get out of the water and just wait for conditions to calm enough for you to step back in.  It's not always wise to move full speed ahead as you go through this journey.  It's okay to acknowledge that there are times where forward progress is slowed or stalled completely.  Be kind and give yourself grace, because ALL of these different things are normal and necessary.

Therapy, for me, has become an act of worship.  Because it is through therapy that I am becoming everything that God has called and created me to be.  It allows me to experience a closeness with my Creator that I never imagined possible.  As I understand myself better and learn all the things that led me to the dark places I have gone, I am more aware of the wind and waves around me.  I am able to choose for myself if I want to get in the water or not.  I am able to look at the flags and understand that it won't always be one step forward and two steps back.  

But I am also able to understand that it's okay if I have setbacks.  It's okay if I don't feel strong enough to push against the current on certain days.  Every day is not a double red flag day, and the more I engage with therapy, the more I am able to see the beauty in all of the different phases/flags of life.  The green flag days feel great and should be celebrated.  But when the flag is yellow or red, I am more equipped now to remind myself that this ebb and flow is normal, and it will not always be this hard.  Sometimes, yes, it will be hard.   But other times, I will be able to see the progress I am making.  Even slow progress is progress.  And sometimes our brains and bodies need the days where we make NO progress.  Because sometimes we just need to rest.  Sometimes we just need to get out of the water until it is safe to keep going.  We just have to remember to watch the flags.  Because they will not always be double red.  And if we are aware of when it is safe to keep moving against the current, that is where we can begin to truly heal.