We haven’t posted in a while and apologize for the hault in updates! We have been travelling back and forth between MD Anderson in Houston to get Jordan’s treatment plan and are hoping to take this plan back to Tulsa, where Jordan will be doing the cancer-smackdown once again.
Today we are expecting a phone call from our main doctor in Houston, who will look over all of Jordan’s scans and assess what kind of treatment needs to take place.
Today is also our one month anniversary.
These past four weeks have been filled with the most odds and ends; the deepest joy that can only escape your body through tears, the dreamiest moments where you know you can fly, simple contentedness in burnt omelettes and our new lamp installation for our apartment. All of these different joys I could replay in my heart over and over again. But in between all these highs, I have honestly felt the deepest sense of grief and fear I have ever experienced. There are moments when the looming battle rears its head and reminds me that our greatest enemy is very real and wants my husband to lose.
The thing that has amazed me most about these spontaneous moments of bête noire (that seem to strike at the most inopportune times- such as during action scenes in movies, sharing an inside joke, a random conversation, or even while I am washing my hair) is that I will always simultaneously feel another quick sting- but of something stronger- peace, hope, joy, faithfulness. And that is when I remember who is protecting my husband and who is holding me. Every time, my sweet Jesus runs just a bit quicker than my stray thoughts, and hovers just a bit closer than my fears. And then I remember: He is closer than my fear.
In one of our appointments, we heard some rather disheartenting news- the cancer was in more places than we had intitally thought. As my heart began to race, I was kindly reminded of the quick pace of my Savior’s gait. Sudden peace in the middle of a doctor’s office. So sudden, I literally thought: Jesus, you are in this very office with us.
You know when you can feel someone walk up behind you and you know they are there, even before they tap your shoulder? That is how I felt Him. I even turned my head to see if I could see Him standing between our chairs.
So today, on our one month anniversary, as I wait to hear the doctor’s report, I am kindly reminded of my Anchor.
We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul,
a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain,
where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf…
And I am filled with hope.