Written in June:
There are a few words that once they enter your life and your family, you just know:
you will never be the same.
One of those words is cancer.
And it just entered ours.
This moment will be forever frozen in time: Driving on 37th Street. A June rainstorm. My wet windshield and her wet face as she told me, as she said it out loud for the first time.
I never thought cancer would affect my family. And if it did, it would be a great aunt or a grandma or an older second cousin or something. Not a sister. Not my baby sister.
It’s funny how already I hear myself and others coming up with other terms to describe it, “this health challenge,” “the road ahead,” “the journey”…because it hurts to say the word “cancer”, it burns your soul on its way out, leaving a singed stain behind.
It’s weird when hope and fear blend themselves in the tapestry of your thoughts — when aching and comfort occur together. I don’t know how hopeless people do it, those who don’t know the comfort of a loving family, the truth of a good and loving God, the hope of healing and “I will never leave you or forsake you.”
Yesterday we sang “Whom Shall I Fear (God of Angel Armies)” at church– and, as you can imagine, every word took on fresh, painful and vibrant meaning. You have to truly mean what you believe sometimes. Yesterday was one of those times.
I know this is all part of a story and I am hopeful it is a story of hope, healing and redemption. No matter what the story is, and how the chapters play out along the way, I know I serve a God who is faithful, kind, and loving.
I know who goes before me, I know who stands behind. The God of angel armies is always by my side.