Healing (Day 364)

I cannot believe it's been nearly a full year since I started writing here. I know I've said this before and I also said it yesterday and I will probably say it again before I am finished writing this blog, but this is truly landmark. Yesterday, I wasn't sure why today was landmark, but then we went rock climbing (more on that in a minute) and then I looked at my blog analytics. 

In this year, I've had 71.9K page views. My top blog is still a Sesame Place review and ticket giveaway from  2012; but that only has 2.5K views. I'd love to know if these 2,500 people stuck around and read some real content OR if they left immediately in hysteria. And while I could probably put my work hat on and Google Analytics the answer to my question; I don't really want to. I want to talk about the blog from 2021 that had the most views:

Choosing Joy in the ER (Day 17)

I reread this blog tonight. I had forgotten this first shunt scare of the year. It was only Day 17 and already I was writing about the horrors and trauma of childhood cancer. I often hate this part of my story--I hate that it happened, I hate that it will always have happened and I hate being tasked with telling people about it. Just as often as I hate it, however, I feel honored--honored to be entrusted with Lily as my daughter, honored to mother Chloe and Nicholas through it, honored to be Mike's wife, honored to be able to share stories of other families, honored to truly know what joy and goodness look like--because I know what the opposite looks like. 

Friends, I am so blessed, it makes me weak in the knees. 

The terrible things that have happened threatened to engulf our family in darkness. But, somehow the light engulfed the darkness. And, of course, that somehow is divine and thanks to God the Father and Jesus the Son and the Holy Spirit whispering healing words in our ears everyday. 

Divine healing is only possible when you admit that you are broken, otherwise, there is nothing for you.  

And I am broken in more ways I could ever list; but the healing is alive and constant in my life. Like today: Mike's cousin Carly (who I've known since she was like 4 and was my partner in "throw animals down the stairs") took our kids bouldering at her rock climbing gym. I watched my three kids try and try and try and fail and fail and fail and then thrive and thrive and thrive. 

I saw their incredible, holy resilience right on display. Mike's Aunt Lydia said, "They are lasting longer than we thought."

I think they are lasting longer than anyone thought. My kids have been so broken by childhood cancer and the death of their uncle and the missing of family who chose not to be present and struggles with school and the pandemic. But, they are constantly displaying how much healing takes place in their life every single day. They never give up on things--and that is God's hand in their life. When I pray for them, it gives me the confidence to tell them to believe in themselves. When they experience terrible falls, they know that getting up isn't only possible, but it is necessary. My kids are confident, humble, fierce, resilient human beings. 

And on paper, no one would ever expect that. But God did. 

I know I sound like I am about to shout out:"THEY ARE HEALED LORD!" And if I am not, well, just know that if I was home at my desk, with the door closed, I would probably be shouting and dancing around. 

Yesterday, I wondered what this one year of writing gave me and today, I know. Writing it all, everyday, for one year, gave me this Day 364, when I can see the ways in which healing is happening every moment. 

Back on Day 17, when Lily was in emergency room and we were so scared, I wrote this, when she was finally discharged:

"Lily has this way of living life not as if she is being hunted by the bad things that she knows full well have happened and could happen again; but instead Lily chooses to live in the long, beautiful in-between moments and let those simple joys envelope her. 

So, I am not nervous anymore. I am taking my lead from my amazing daughter, who has been through more and seen more horrors than most adults. Lily knows childhood cancer. She knows what it does. She's seen how it robs children. But Lily does not live waiting for cancer nor does she live with cancer--she lives all around it, in the places of joy and victory and normalcy. 

I think this is a choice we have to make everyday. We can be anxious about what bad things might happen or we can simply live in the good moments--knowing that we are the only ones who can rob ourselves of joy. "

Everyday is a choice friends. Thank you for choosing to spend a little time with me this year.