I Never Thought I Would Say This

"But, I homeschool."

Then I would clarify that I used to be the one in high school who thought homeschooling was weird.

I regret that now.

Yet, it just seemed natural to "clarify" as if I knew they already thought this rural-living-family-of-eight-with-a-big-van would, of course, homeschool because it came with the already weird territory.

But then, it became me.  It was one of the cornerstones on which I built the foundation of who I wanted my family to be.  I was the mom, and it was my duty to educate my children.  What better thing did I have to do with my time?  I only had one chance to raise them, and I wanted to do it "right."  I wanted them to play as long as they could and learn through that.  I wanted to provide them a classical education.  I wanted them home, together, and with us.  I wanted a simpler life.  I wanted them to see our faith as the most important part of their lives.  I wanted to protect their innocence as long as possible.  And then, I wanted them to be a light for others.

What I once thought was so weird soon became my "right" way.

Then last year hit, and homeschooling became something different.  It became the bare minimum in terms of curriculum coupled with a heavy dose of life lessons.  Together we learned how to grieve, how to hope and how to trust.  We learned what it means to have courage, and we are stronger than we once thought.  We learned challenges are lightened with prayer and community, and it is okay to be sad and ache for something more.  The year has taught us all so much, but maybe the most important lesson has been one in letting go.

When we arrived home from Houston, Jeremy said he thought it was time to put the kids in school.  I immediately felt defeated.  How could he ask me (or tell me) to give up the last thing I seemed to be clinging to after a year of what seemed to have taken most everything else?

All I wanted to do was convince him why he was so wrong in thinking that.  I wanted him to know that I would just re-prioritize - what had been an "off" year would change with the right schedule.  Even though I wasn't the homeschool mom I wanted to be, I tried to convince him that I could handle it.  With tears streaming down my face I begged him to just let me find a solution because this was the life plan we had based so much of our daily decisions on.

He said the only solution would be to hire someone full-time to be at the house with me.  In reality, we couldn't do that.

So I closed up.  I couldn't let my babies go.  What I had convinced myself was right for my family and a very critical part of my vocation was being asked of me, and as much as I had seen God's hand in the past year of detachment, surely this wasn't part of His plan.

In true Britt fashion, I called those closest to me, begging for answers of ways to make it work.  One by one the beautiful friends of mine brought things to light.

"Maybe it's time for you to allow your husband to lead your family in the way he thinks is best."

"Your marriage comes first.  Your kids next.  Let him love and protect you like he is trying to."

"Maybe your children could benefit from this for a time."

"It isn't a forever decision."

"It doesn't mean you have failed."

"Maybe you have to let go of this to grab hold of a better path God has planned."

Saying yes to this proposal did not mean that I was a bad mom.  It didn't mean I was selfish.  It didn't mean that I had abandoned all I had convinced myself was good for my children.  But it did mean letting go...again.  And, I didn't want to.

This time, it seemed too much.  Too much to ask of me.  Too much to let go of.

With days of crying at the thought of sending the kids to school and many prayers to soften my heart, I realized that what I am/was clinging to wasn't a situation of whether or not my children would be okay (although it was a huge part of what was plaguing me).  What I was clinging to was control.

And with control, a sense of security.

But, He wants it all...not just the piece of my life I'm willing to give up to Him.  Not just trust in caring for a special needs child.  Not just trust in fighting a chronic illness.  Not just trust in in a daily life so different from what it was just months ago.  He wants it all.  Trust in my marriage.  Trust in the raising of my children.  Trust in the times in which the "right" path may not have been the path I would have chosen.

We are sending the kids to school next year.

It still makes me cry thinking about it, but I know there is good to come.  I know this decision isn't forever (unless it becomes so).  I know Jeremy is trying so hard to allow me to heal and rest.  I know my children will be okay (they are excited!).  And, I know God has this just as He has had everything else.  

His plan is always greater than mine, and I just have to let go of mine long enough to see it.

Saturday Ramblings

 

Just less than four months ago, we were standing before this plane, anxiously awaiting the baby sister and daddy we had been apart from for too long.  Almost a month spent separated, I think each one of us realized the value of family and the strength and peace that comes from being together, as one unit, in the comfort of our home...even when that closeness can bring its own little hiccups.

Tomorrow, we do it again.  Not for as long, but equally steeped in emotion.

I will undergo surgery next week to remove both breasts and the lymph nodes under my arms.  Many have asked if I'm anxious.  And, while I'd like to say, "no" and that I have complete trust in God, I wouldn't be telling the entire truth.

I am anxious.  But right now, that anxiety stems from more than the surgery...mostly it comes from the eyes I look into as I say goodbye...those eyes that well up with tears and beg me not to leave again.  The eyes that are trying to fight back the "drips" while each one asks why I have to be gone again.  I'm worried about being apart.  I'm worried about little ones with health problems of their own.  I'm worried about the anxiety manifesting in their little hearts after the last few months.

Tuesday morning, I'll worry about my surgery.

In an ideal situation, I would tell you that the last almost six months, I've re-prioritized my life and now don't get irritated when the inconsequential things don't get done or the kids don't listen or the house doesn't stay clean for more than five minutes.  But, the situation isn't ideal, and I've been less than I should be when it comes to letting things go, in spite of my diagnosis.

I'm hoping the Lord is still chipping away at the silliness of my reactions and the lack of being who I need to be, because I don't want Him to give up...I just take a lot of molding ;)

I attended a virtual healing service last night.  That was a first for me - well, a first for a healing service of any kind.  And, while I'm so glad I did it, I went back and forth for awhile about truly what I wanted to ask God for.  I mean, I want to be well.  I want that "guarantee" that I'll see my kids have kids and share much more life with them (don't we all), but I wrestled with (and still do) what God's plan is for me.

I'm not saying that I think He wants me to die.  I just wonder how He wants to use me to reach others, and I pray daily for grace to allow that to happen.  Does He want to refine me via this cross?  I believe so.  And, it is teaching me so much about how much I lack in turning my life completely over to Him.  Can He use me as an example for others when they face their own unique crosses?  I pray so.  Does He want to use the power of a miraculous healing to bring others closer to Him?  Maybe.  I just don't know.  So, what I ask for is His will.  Be that a cure, a remission, or a constant cross...His will and the grace to accept it.

Again, Tuesday morning...I think I will worry more about the surgery.  Vainly, I'm anxious about getting lymphedema.  With my desire for control, I'm a bit worried about being helpless for awhile.  I'm also somewhat concerned about looking like Frankenstein and awaiting the pathology results.  I'm concerned about being away from home, from the ones I love most and from the familiar in the vulnerable.

Maybe in all of that, I should say those are my "thoughts" rather than my anxieties.  I know I cannot be in two places at once.  I know I have to do this in order that I may be as healthy as I can.  I know that my kids are in the hands of people who love them dearly.  And, above all, I know that God has this and is wrapping His arms around me as I go into surgery alone (cancer in COVID times;)).  I truly am not afraid.  I am ready for this, and I'm ready to be on the other side of it.

But, what I'm most ready for...these little ones waiting for me as I arrive home, much like Jesus is waiting for me to drop my arms and the weight of these thoughts and come into His.  Because if there is anything I'm learning (and trying to put into practice), it's this...little else matters besides Him.  And, we can rest in the promise that His will will be done regardless of our "help."

Come, Lord Jesus.

Life Itself

I just watched that movie.  Sitting here in my hotel room, attached to MD Anderson, alone.  And, while I wouldn't recommend that movie to just anyone without strong caveats,  strong caveats, it has a profound message, and one which deepens one's empathy.  And, in that setting, I write.

So, I have to back up.  To a month ago.  To this...

...sitting for family photos knowing I had a mammogram in two days that very few knew about.  Knowing that this might be our last "normal" photo for awhile.

I didn't want to believe the lump I noticed a few months before would be a problem.  The lump that since Agnes' birth I had forgotten about.  The one which I was reminded of with a phone call from my grandmother just a week or so before this.

My granddad (who had suffered greatly from a stroke almost two years before), woke up angry with my grandmother.  Apparently he believed I had called him in the night to tell him something was wrong.  Even after texting that I was fine, he wasn't convinced.  So, Jeremy stayed home with everyone but Agnes, and I drove out with her to see him.  When I arrived, he looked at my grandmother and said, "See!  She did call."  I tried to convince him otherwise without any success, and he said, "You said something was wrong, and you had something to show me."  So I introduced him to Agnes, and said I was fine.

But, that night, I remembered the lump I felt months before.

And, I got in touch with my OBGYN the next day to schedule a mammogram for after we returned from Agnes' appointments in Denver the next week.

I didn't tell anyone (well, except for my husband, mom, sister and a couple friends), because part of me was sure I had just made something out of nothing...like a clogged milk duct.  And, another part didn't want anyone to worry until they had a reason to worry.  But, when I told my mom a couple days before the appointment, she was determined to come with me (or at least drive me there).

When at the appointment they "saw something suspicious," part of me just knew.  They biopsied two sites and told me that it could be 200 other things but that they needed to rule out the one "bad" thing.  I got back in the car with my mom, and all I could think was, "Dear God please don't let my kids grow up without a mom."  I didn't want to start thinking of all of the what ifs, but I was somewhat worried, and I knew those I told were, too.

That night as I laid in bed thinking of the year we had had, I so vividly was reminded of Jesus being fully man and thus knowing the hurt of hard times, yet with He and His momma, part of me thought, "Yes, you became like us to know us and to feel everything with us - to be fully human - yet You never lost your mom."  

Two days later, as I was washing dishes after lunch, I had a call on my cell from an unknown number.  I picked it up, and after the lady on the other end asked me how my biopsied sites were doing, she asked if I "had a minute."  For the record, I'm no longer answering yes to that question ;)

I sat on my bed, grabbed a pen and opened up the nearest thing to me (a book called He and I), and began to write down everything she said.  It was a blur, but I came away knowing I had Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, Grade 3, with a 3.5 cm mass and at least one affected lymph node.  I would wait five more days to hear reports on the staging and receptor status.

I walked out of my room, made eye contact with Jeremy, and he followed me out our back door to sit on the steps, take a deep breath, cry and decide what to do next.  I had cancer.

Cancer.

I knew I needed to call my mom and sister, then one of my best childhood friends who had just been through a cancer diagnosis and treatment, and finally send a mass message to my friends and family who had no clue what was coming.

In the meantime, Jeremy called his parents and told our kids...the kids who haven't seen much death, but that which they have has almost always been tied to cancer.

After all of the communication, and the loving on my babies, I went to talk to my parents.  There is not much worse than seeing those you love most suffer...yet seeing them helplessly hurt for you, I've discovered, ranks right up there with it.

I came home to Jeremy driving his truck, with the kids behind in all of their run down, battery-operated vehicles...chained together, pulled by Dad...offering me what they termed, "The Love Parade."

I made the corner after watching their tear-stained faces wanting to lift my spirits and sobbed like I never have before.

And after that, I went back to those dishes.

Because what does one do after receiving a cancer diagnosis, with 8 sets of little eyes watching?

Only the very next thing that needs to be done.  Life itself.