What has happened in two weeks time?! Two seemingly small events that have completely turned our reality upside down. Or is it right side up?
Last week Matt received another completely clear MRI. Glory. Our doctor told us she felt comfortable with Matt stopping chemo, but the decision was entirely up to us. Isn’t that odd? Our whole journey has been up to us, prompting us to turn to the Lord in everything. Asking for his guidance is humbling and freeing at the same time. It is out of our hands Lord, that scares us. It is in your hands Lord, and that liberates us.
So, we listened. And Matt took his last chemo pill on Saturday. And the most miraculous thing has happened. Our fear is gone. We feel lifted up and healthy and able and we actually went on a date during the week, and drove to a town 2 hours away to get Matt clothes that actually fit, and enjoyed the debate and went to a braves game. Those things are things that have been in our past for this year. And you don’t know it until you’ve been through it do you? How heavy it all is.
Like pin you to the ground with fear and doubt and worry kind of heavy. Too scared to death to move or go or do and so you just sit. And pray. And wait. And the weight settles and you accept it. Because it is now. But friends, please know, it won’t be like this forever.
One day, and one day soon, you will be freed. You will get up and go out and do and laugh and cancer will not cross your mind because you’ve been healed by our loving Lord.
And you will look back on the past year that was so long you thought it would never end, so hard that you thought you couldn’t do it, and so heavy you thought you would be pinned to the place you’re sitting right now, reading this, forever. And then one day, you will realize it is done. Can you believe it? I still can’t.
So to you who are sitting there with something really heavy pinning you to the place you sit. Whether it is cancer or depression or loneliness or loss or something completely different altogether, and you are watching everyone around you with envious eyes, wishing you could go and be and do freely. Feeling isolated because no one understands what it is like, as they go about their lives doing normal twenty-thirty-forty-fifty- sixty something things and you are in a holding pattern trying to navigate chemo weeks and doctor’s appointments and waiting for the next shoe to drop all the while praying it doesn’t. We see you. Our hearts know. God knows. And the days in the sun are right around the corner.