New Treatments Begin

After some searing pain that's been piercing dad's lower back the last few days, doctors have decided to resume radiation treatments. Dad will be going to the center for treatment each day after mom gets off work, with 10-12 treatments in all.

We pray that these treatments will a) manage the pain and b) not produce yucky side effects.

My plans are to head to my parents' home this weekend, if the weather cooperates. Thanks to all who have said that you check back regularly, and intercede on dad's behalf regularly, too.

I consider all of you part of "my family." You are holding me up during a very difficult time, and trust me, it makes all the difference.

Wherever You Are...

“If there were any place better for you than the one in which you find yourself, Divine Love would have placed you there.”
-Charles Spurgeon

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches each of us, wherever we are, whatever our joy or pain.

Today I remind myself that Jesus loves each of us, the sickly and hurting, the virile and energetic, but most of all, the least of these. And he does know our address--he knows what's happening with us at this moment, and what will happen in the next minute and hour, and what life will hold tomorrow.

Dad's pain took a sharp turn yesterday around 4 pm, slicing through his lower spine. No amount of pain medication could touch it. Today the Dr. ordered a scan and an additional treatment of radiation, hoping to eradicate some of the pain. Some more hefty pain medication may help, and we pray for comfort and peace.

We pray for grace to accept each moment as it comes, to keep living in the light of our Savior's love. A passion so recklessly poured out on us, redeeming the pain and sorrow and helplessness. Divine love has placed dad here, in this situation at this moment in time.

And so it is with you, in your particular situation, with your particular needs and desires, in selfishness and holiness--his passion is unending and full of mercy. You, friend, are loved beyond understanding. Our Abba-Father is never stingy, never late, never half-hearted, never lukewarm. And his love is far from ordinary.

Watch for it today by sustaining attention on things that normally pass you by. And you will see it with eyes that seek it and ears that are ready to hear.

Blessings...

Suzie

Conversation to Treasure

Hello all:

Dad's hearing, with the help of some heavy-duty hearing aids, is quite good considering! I sat on the couch next to his recliner for much of the weekend, and we watched movies and talked about anything that came to mind.

Even as we celebrate this *wonderful* little miracle, Dad's bone cancer grows more painful. We tried everything--heating pad, 8-hour tylenol, his prescribed pain medication...but there was little relief.

We wish so much that we could ease his aches and pains. If only we could wave a magic wand and give him even a few hours of relief. And yet, each progression of the cancer reminds us that Dad's body is only temporarily in pain. How amazing to think that his body--including his cancer and poor hearing--will be miraculously healed in heaven.

It is hard to grasp, hard to understand. And yet we believe this wholeheartedly. It is why dad sometimes smiles through the pain. It is the hope that shouts that life will be more abundant and carefree in the days to come. Our future beckons to us, as we watch Dad walking the journey toward his heavenly home.

We're so thankful to know that we will join him there. A friend of mine, and the author of 90 Minutes in Heaven, has a saying he shares with all who lose a loved one to heaven. "I'm so sorry for your temporary separation."

Temporary, fleeting, and painful, yes. But as so many of us know, some of the deepest pain or sorrow brings us to a place of overwhelming joy. Grieving may remain for the night; joy comes in the morning.

Grace upon Grace

Grace upon grace, mercy upon mercy . . .

Dad’s hearing loss had made it impossible for him to converse or even hear the television, no matter how loud it got. We were told that the damage was permanent, and that we should not expect much if any improvement. It’s been very isolating for dad. And so it is with great joy that I share the news that two new hearing aids have restored partial hearing. I even talked with him on the phone this weekend! He sounds so upbeat and positive.

He will receive his 5th chemo treatment this Wednesday, with a final chemo treatment to follow 3 weeks later. As we were told, all of these treatments have been done to give “quality of life.” Although we are sad that we will no longer be actively fighting the cancer, we know that God holds Dad’s days in his hands—and we are thankful that he will have the opportunity to function without side effects from the treatments.

Thank you for your thoughtful prayers, kindnesses, and e-mails. I’ll be traveling to my parents' home this weekend to help mom with the “post-chemo” days that can sometimes be difficult.

One Little Book, One Big Magazine Article

I stand amazed at what God can do through one little book that could...

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16950932/site/newsweek/from/ET/

Having worked with the author for about a year and a half now, it's humbling to see his story being used in the lives of people with drastically different beliefs--to be read by those who read books just because they make it on the New York Times bestseller list...

Yeah, God!

The Buzz from Beaners

Yes, I am posted near the fireplace at my local Beaners, typing away on my laptop. It's a bleak midwinter outdoors, but warm and cozy here.

I very nearly blushed to high heavens, after I muttered away out loud at the photo editor on my computer, not realizing that a man had slipped in at a nearby table. Oh, well, those who don't know the therapeutic value of yelling at their digital accessories, don't know the beauty of an expressive personality. :)

OK, here are some shameless pictures of my gorgeous nieces. You like?

Cassie fetches a smile for the camera
Aunt Suzie and Brianna decorate cookies
Emmie enjoys her first birthday cake

Life Marches On

It is snowy here, with sub-zero temperatures and a bitter wind. Winter humbles us in the Midwest, because we cannot control its fury. Our plans are constantly changing due to its Arctic blasts, and we must be flexible.

A foot of snow this weekend, the skill of driving on sheer ice, the stomach dropping out as we spin and whirl.

We look to find the beauty in the sheer whiteness of it all, to be thankful for heat and warm soup and thick afghans.

It is beautiful and wonderful. But it is cold. And we scan ahead from memory, recalling that indeed spring and summer do come in this region. But it's hard to imagine the birds and the bees, the sun and the rain, when you don't need a coat and the outdoors is friendly and mild.

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This Arctic season will keep me from visiting mom and dad this weekend, which brings a certain wistfulness and a bit of sadness.

Dad has mostly lost his hearing now, but I'm told he can hear us when we get very close to him. He's adjusting to closed-captioning on television, and the news that the Dr. will order no more radiation for him. After two more chemo treatments, he will be done with these medical gymnastics, at least as far as doctors can predict.

Ironically, to the cancer patient, stopping these treatments, although it is somewhat of a relief, feels like surrender at times.

Please pray for God to minister to his spirit, to whisper his love in the mundaneness of the routine, to bring hope and purpose to his heart.

Thank you for walking this journey with us. I can't form the words to let you know how much your prayers mean.