Some know, some may not. I was diagnosed with lyme disease one week before Christmas after nearly two months of indescribable pain and immense swelling of my right knee and leg. At the time, I was a surrogate and, in order to protect Baby Bram, we choose to do the safest antibiotic possible with no prescribed pain medication. The lyme, unfortunately, has not yet cleared and has continued to cause knee pain, stiffness, and swelling. This is the story of the past week, as this diagnosis continues to cause angst in my heart and mind, but also, understanding of God's pursuit, comfort in the unknown, and an ability to face my bell. Monday: 9 Hours, from the time I walked into my first appointment with Infectious Disease to finally leaving the hospital with a PICC line in my arm and my anxious mind consumed with worry and confusion. For all of us non-medical folk, a PICC line is a long, thin tube inserted into your arm and passed through to the larger veins near your heart. My PICC line has allowed me to receive daily IV antibiotics, which I am scheduled to get for two to four weeks, depending on my body's response. At the end of the day while sitting in a cancer center during my first infusion, I sent a text to my sister, Molly, "It's like a glimpse into our possible future. Which is sad and twisted." Tuesday & Wednesday: I had a full day of home visits, meetings, and paperwork ahead of me, but first, I had to get my second "infusion." Due to some insurance limitations, my infusions have taken place at an infusion center 30 minutes from home, which turns into an hour when you include daycare drop off. I checked in at the desk and settled into another uncomfortable waiting room chair. This waiting room felt all too familiar all too quickly, but I was not sure why until my name was called. I was lead to a chair sitting directly across from "the bell." Cancer warriors everywhere know "the bell," which is rung at the end of treatment as a celebration of life, a declaration for all to know that whomever rings the bell had endured hell on earth and survived. While I see the beauty in the bell, I, personally, have not heard its glorious chimes when I so desperately yearned for it in years past. First, Grandma Bram. A woman of God, stubborn in her daily walk even through chemo and radiation. No bell. Next, Jennie, my second momma, my sister, and, sometimes, the grumpiest of gals who deeply loved Jesus despite nine years of endless treatments, trials, and tears. No bell. Then, Momma. My momma. No bell. And now, another vitally important woman, who I look to for compassion, guidance, and unconditional love. No bell. I sent a text on Tuesday to Molly, "F***ing Cancer Bell." I know that isn't Christ like, but that was my raw response to seeing it. And on Wednesday, "Sitting across from the bell." But the Holy Spirit tugged at my heart and I sent a text on Wednesday to a relatively new "mom friend," who is quickly becoming my sister in Christ, inviting her and her boys, close to Lincoln's age, over to play and have supper. She called it "rebellious" and, in a way, that's exactly what it was. Out of our norm, out of our comfort zone, perfectly "chaotic and calm." But God is often beautifully rebellious in His pursuit, shouldering the heaviness of this life through compassion and community. Thursday: Me: "Remember Jennie's smell? It's the smell of cancer. I just got hit in the face with her smell while in the waiting room for my infusion." Molly: "How was that?" Me: "Gut punch. F***ing bell." Again, not "proud", but I refuse to be anything but real when writing from the heart. Friday: Five days of heaviness. Both personally and professionally. Each day, I continued to show up. For my students and their families, my infusions, and my boys. My blood pressure, however, was not playing by the rules of "keeping it together," which usually would put me into a fit of anxiety, but instead forced me to begin to let go of the circumstances I have no control over. This time I opened up to a dear friend by saying "If anything, having the high blood pressure reading today was a reminder that I have to take all of these things in stride. And it's a lot. And it's okay for me to realize that it's a lot." In her constant compassion, she has become a safe place to share life's joys and sorrows. Saturday: Another infusion, this time having to drive 45 minutes to a cancer center where I am scheduled to get all my weekend infusions. But spending time with two gals and their families over the course of Saturday afternoon and evening lifted the heaviness, once more, reminding me of His pursuit through compassion and community. Sunday: I arrived to the cancer center 15 minutes early, hoping to get done in time to make it back for church. A nurse I had never met before and will likely never meet again, at least this side of heaven, greeted me with a smile and a sweet southern accent. Because of Momma, I have a deep respect for nurses, knowing they truly are the hands and feet of Jesus, so I always do my best to be kind, patient, and respectful of their time. We make small talk for the first few minutes and my guard came crashing down simply by her ability to make me belly laugh when telling a story about her hairless chihuahua. It took less than five minutes to feel seen by this woman, to feel loved and cherished. It was like talking to Momma, if only for 20 minutes. She saw past my (masked) smile and into the heaviness I had been carrying all week. After "casually" mentioning the bell to those who are in my everyday life, I poured my heart out to this woman, a literal stranger. "I keep thinking that this is a glimpse into my own battle with cancer. A sneak peek. And I am hating every moment. I will never get to ring the bell." She paused, put her hand on her hip, like a good momma always does, and said, "I can tell you've got the Holy Spirit in you sweetheart, so I am gonna tell you something. The devil is using your fear of cancer to separate you from God. Stop giving him that power." Gut punch, but this time, a somewhat welcome one. Later that afternoon, I listened to a podcast for the first time and, after listening to a couple episodes I came across, The Unfolding: Page 118, Susie Larson. Zach and Linc woke up from nap to Momma sobbing, feeling, once more, seen, loved, and cherished in the midst of it all. Susie Larson has also struggled with lyme and described exactly what I am walking through right now. She described, in detail, some of the neurological issues including short term memory loss and brain fog, that have caused frustration and confusion. But she also described her walk of faith, her glimpses of God's presence through it all. The most impactful lines of the episode are these, "He was giving me a lowercase no to give me a capital Yes....God is content to be misunderstood....what He was doing was answering our prayers in a way that we just didn't understand in the moment....I just marvel...we love people, but our hope is in God....we serve an audience of one..." And finally, Susie shares about her struggle with fear, "The storms reveal the lies you believe and the truth we need....I heard the enemy railing in my ear, 'I can get you anytime, anywhere and God will never stop me.' and God just roared into my heart, 'You have believed that your whole life and do you know that he can not get you anytime.....but I have to let you fight, it feels like he has you by the throat, but the God of peace is going to crush satan under your feet, so rise up and fight.....I'm not going to let you lose, but I have to let you fight....what happens in our souls happens in our cells." Seen, loved, and cherished by two complete strangers. Monday: Home visits, meetings, paperwork, and an infusion. I love routine. With the words the nurse and Susie "ringing" in my ears, I was ready to face my fear, to face the bell. But, from my seat today, I couldn't see the bell. And maybe that was God, or maybe it was the scheduler. Either way, I sent another text, Me: "At my infusion but can't see the bell today." Molly:"Comforting or no?" Me: "Well, after my nurse yesterday scolded me, it might have been good to 'face my fear," Molly: "Write it. Face your bell." So, I did. And I am. So, now, my question for you after reading all of this, What is your bell? Are you ready to face it? Are you surrounding yourself with a compassionate community who can support you in shouldering the heaviness? Are you willing to be rebellious on a Wednesday night with another momma or open up to those who you do life with each day at work or in your neighborhood? Is God invited to know your greatest fears and darkest secrets? What is your bell? Write it. Face your bell. And, may I add, pray. Just talk to God, or yell at Him, or laugh with Him, or sing with Him. He just wants a relationship with you, a raw, real relationship. And if you are reading this and you don't know where to start or maybe you totally do, either way, I love hearing people's stories, I love loving people. Send me a text or call me. I want to be rebellious in my pursuit of community and maybe you do too.
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