A lesson in the art of waiting.

We are waiting.
I don't like that word much right now.
When all the beautifully well meaning people ask me:
"How are you going? What is happening??"
I want to reply with gusto:
"We are fighting.. we are in treatment.."

Instead, my reply is:
"We are waiting...."
Waiting for a phone call to say the treatment is approved, now let's annihilate those life sucking tumors.
Waiting for the battle to start.
Waiting for the distance between our little family to stretch out between us.

I'm not saying I want what the end of waiting will bring us.
I'm not eager to have my husband get on a plane and fly away from us.
I'm not excited about the second stage of treatment.

But when the waiting is done, the fight resumes.
I know that this week has been tough on Sheldon. He had been busily leaving long 'to do'  lists for his staff at work. He has been meeting with doctors and bankers, making sure that every eventuality has a covered base.
But niggling in the back of his mind is the thought that each moment that we are WAITING is a moment where the cancer is not under all guns drawn attack.

I wrote a song a lifetime ago. It said:
"Waiting for a perfect life
Seems to take so long...
Until my waiting
Anticipating
Becomes my willingness
To draw closer
Closer to the place
Where I wait on You."

So my words have circled back to chomp uncomfortably on my backside.
Yes... We are waiting.
Yes... I would prefer to be fighting rather than waiting.

But I have today.
We have today.
And I get to choose to be frustrated in the wait or satisfied in the knowledge that waiting is not long term.
It's not.
Someday soon we will get that call and he will board that plane. All too soon he will start that new drug. Before we know it we will be knee deep in the battle.

So maybe waiting is the gift in all of this. Maybe it's the time we need.
Time to sit at the beach on a Saturday morning and watch our boys jumping waves.
Time to catch up on episodes of Dr.Who that, strangely, neither of us have seen before.
Time to prepare ourselves for whatever it is that is before us.

Maybe it is the act of waiting that calms the heart and sharpens the mind.

Maybe, instead of waiting FOR something to happen, I should wait ON the One who provides me strength and refuge.

"They that WAIT UPON the Lord will get fresh strength. They spread their wings and soar like eagles..." (Isaiah 40)

I'm mistaken in my thinking that in waiting I am powerless and nothing is happening.

In those moments of the wait I get a chance to take stock of what has been, what is now and what comes before.

I get to stand still at the crossroads, for that is where waiting always happens- at a crossroads of what was and what will be.

So, if you are waiting for something to happen. If you are at a crossroads of what was and what will be, can I encourage you to join me in welcoming the wait.
Appreciating what the wait is allowing you.
Taking the stillness of the wait and finding a moment of refreshing and renewing.
Let waiting become a willingness to draw closer to the One who renews and refreshes.

And when the wait is over we will fight.

Hello... Again.

We've been somewhere near here before.
Close to this juncture..
Nearby this path of 'what-ifs' and 'why, oh why'..
It all looks familiar and yet it's heartbreaking in the new aspects we are facing.

Yes..it's been a while since I wrote to you all.
I was quiet for a while. Busy enjoying normality...
And now- well, I guess this is hello again.

Here's what's been happening in my little world:
* we fought hard when the cancer diagnosis was first given and we saw great success for 12 months of the phase 1 chemo treatment.
* we moved north to be around the support force that is our families.
* we both got amazing jobs. We love our jobs
* we enjoyed the serenity of our little house...

And in the days and weeks and months that slid by, I relaxed.
I found myself wondering what I had been worried about when diagnosis and prognosis and treatment were all new words.
After all... Things had been bad and scary at the start, but surely those days were a thing of the past.. right????!!! Surely my family had experienced enough of a rough time.

And then my world rocked...no, shattered into a gazillion pieces on Easter Sunday. My strong, courageous, noisy, brilliant, generous mum went. Just like that. She was here, and then she went. Just one breath. That's the difference between being here and being gone.
We grieved and I honestly didn't know what I would do without my go-to person.

And I thought.... Ok, now I can't be stretched anymore.
We've dealt with the cancer diagnosis and those hellish early days.
We've transplanted our lives...
We've said goodbye to mum....
Enough already.

Sheldon got on a plane this week. He flew into Sydney to have the checkup. The last time he had been there, it was glowing good news. Cancer shrinking. Cancer being beaten back. Time was ours, stretching out in front of us. It was a great checkup.

That was then.

On Wednesday afternoon, at 3:02pm, I heard his voice on the other end of the line. It wavered and cracked wide open as the words I desperately didn't want to hear were said... "Babe... It's not good. Not good at all.."

And everything stopped.
The world actually stopped spinning.
Just for a second.
That second.

This is now.

So.... Here we are. At the starting line of a path called "phase 2"..."plan B"....
Plan B is a new type of chemo.
The word on the street is that it's not a walk in the park... It's a tougher treatment than what we've known. We fervently hope that Sheldon responds well.
Because fighting this is a given.
It's not an option to NOT go down this path.
Their names are Krystopher, Matthew and Lukas.

Hello again.
I have to say- I didn't miss talking to you all while I was busy living our life .

I write this so you know.
So you can keep up to date
So you can know what to close your eyes and whisper a prayer about...

I write this so it doesn't drown me... Swamp me...
Wring me out....

Writing helps me sort my head out.
So thanks for reading this... This sorting room for my thoughts and my questions and my ups and my downs.

Tomorrow we are taking the boys to search for platypus, to have a picnic in the mountains and make some memories.

That's a happy day.

That's a nice day..

It's been a while since last I put pen to paper (figuratively, of course) and put down some thoughts.
There is a simple reason for that- in the past couple of months my thoughts have resembled the arid waste land of central Kalahari desert.
Imagine tumbleweeds blowing down an empty dirt track.
Or wind whipping sand over a stretch of dunes.
Yup... That has been the vista of my thought world.

The inner world of one Mrs. Suz has been worn out, tired....
I honestly think the initial adrenaline fuelled weeks of diagnosis, moving, appointments, waiting rooms, scans, treatment plans, going back to work - all culminated in a little siesta of sorts in my mind.
I still functioned, I just had no words to say or write that resembled anything remotely coherent.

It's a bit like this:

In early January of this year, everything that could be shaken was shaken.
And not just a little jiggle to see if we were awake, but a Hurricane strength shake.

And after every life altering shake up there comes the time of recovery.
You recover and you take stock.
You rummage through the wreckage and salvage what needs to be saved.


My mind has been in recovery mode... Rummaging through the ruins and the debris, pulling out the valuables that need to stay with me.

And after the recovery effort comes the rebuild.
And now it's time for some rebuilding.


Sheldon has been in Sydney this week for his oncologist appointment. He has been carrying a weight of "I hope this treatment is working" that I have been shouldering. In fact, everyone in our world has been waiting and hoping and praying that the treatment is working..
He had his CT scan Tuesday and on Wednesday went to see Prof. Beale at the Cancer centre.

You need something to work with when you rebuild. Some tools, some materials..

The treatment is working.
The cancer is shrinking.
There's our material.
A bit of tangible hope.

Let me be honest: having hope without proof is doable, but it's bloody tough work.
It stretches faith.
It says "believe that things are going to be fine without knowing if things are going to be fine."
It's hard work.
It says "trust that there is a rhyme and a rhythm and a reason when all you hear is discordant chaos."

Yes, there is always hope.
And when hope bears fruit and becomes tangible, oh the sweet relief.
Having hope is crucial.
Holding hope when it starts to flourish and show results.... That's a nice day.
Getting the break you've been holding out for... That's a nice day.
Seeing the benefit of the hard yards... That's a nice day.
Hope realised.. That's a nice day.


So..... After almost 6 months of walking the tension of truly horrible and hopeful peace, we have to learn how to live this new life we find ourselves in.

I start full time work next term.
Sheldon has a little two bedroom cottage,( no actually, it's more a shack..) to paint.
We are taking the boys on our first family holiday next week.
Sadie the dog has to adjust to farm life. She's going to love it. (Our poor chickens!!)
We have bills and loans and repayments that need attention.
It's rebuilding.
It's learning how to live after the storm.

There is always hope.

I read something today.
It was lovely.
It was about someone who was at the edge of despair..
Someone who was at the end of their tether...
Someone who had been knocked down from the resting place of normality and then royally kicked.
This person, this broken being was on a diet of tears... Tears for breakfast, tears for supper.
And in the place of pain and seemingly bleak darkness, this person stops to ponder.
They "empty the pockets of their life"..
They take stock.
They line up the disappointments and the heartbreaks..
They name and number the moment of being disillusioned and left behind..
And in the rubble of their days they seize a moment of illumination.
A moment to scream hope at their weary soul.
And they see through the haze and catch a glimpse of a brighter day.
Hope.

So.. Here it is. Again.
The lesson I learn again..and again.
Trouble may come.
Sorrow may arrive.
Disillusioned days are maybe just around the corner.
The skies above may be dark, laden with the threat of that storm.
And yet there is that voice that screams hope at a weary soul.
It might start as a whisper.
Lost in the noise of the fight.
And yet there it is.
Hope.

See.. This is the deal.
And I keep stating the deal.
Because the deal is worth stating.
Trouble CAN NOT be allowed to take you out.
If you are on a diet of tears..
If you have emptied the pockets of your life and are left shaking your head at the disarray and the shards of broken dreams..
If you have lost sight of the highs in the depths of your lows..
If the pain of loss or the threat of sorrow is on the menu...
Well... Ok.
I hear you.
I know.
Seriously..
We have been through some tough days in the past few months.
Cancer ain't a walk in the park.
Redundancy isn't a fun-land joint you want to keep visiting.
Leaving a home we had sewn our hearts into has been, well... Painful.
I was on a diet of tears.
I emptied the pockets of my life.
I was left a bit bereft.
Trouble came my way and it threatened to take me out.
It reared up and it was ugly.
It stands there still.. Sneering at us. That troublesome trouble.
And some days, I will admit that it beats me up.
It kicks my arse all over the place.
It silences me with its enormity.
But it doesn't take me out.
I lift up my battle weary hand and say "uh uh trouble. Talk to the hand."
I whisper and sometimes I even scream at my soul, "come on!!!!Pick yourself up!!!"

So. If you are staring trouble down, give yourself a good talking to.
Say "yep trouble.. I see you, (messing up all my plans). I hear you, (making noise as you stir the quiet waters of normality). But hear me: you will not take me out. Trouble: you will come and go. So, I see you coming and I can't wait to see you going. I choose to smile at this storm. I choose to see the beautiful in the broken. I choose the magnificent tension of my every day. So... There. YOU CAN'T TAKE ME OUT."
And all of this is said to the soundtrack of survivor. "I'm a survivor..ain't gunna give up.."

You a survivor.
You ain't gunna give up.
Because there is always hope.
There is always hope.
Peace out.
Xoxoxo

Smile at the Storm

When we found out that the diagnosis was cancer, it was a truly horrendous day.
A dark day.
A deep in the pit of despair type moment.

We sat in the car, out the front of the specialist offices- and we cried.
We made some tough phone calls to let family know- and we cried.
We stumbled our way into the office of our pastors and friends- and we cried.
We held hands and we tried not to think about our sons- and we cried.

It was, on the whole, a rather dreadful day.

And the next day was ordinary.
And the day after that was slightly worse.

It was a season of bleakness and sighs.
I didn't know what to say.
I couldn't find the words to bring before God in any semblance of a prayer, so I sighed.
A deep, million-words-worth sigh.

The days stretched out.
It was like time had suddenly slowed down.

In one conversation with a well meaning stranger, they slowly shook their head and stretched out a hand in comfort.
"Well... That's the worse news ever... Just horrible."
And with a sad half smile, they left me standing in a state of somewhat semi-shock.
Really??
Seriously??
Was this life altering, time slowing, sigh inducing, tear wrenching event actually the WORST news?
I had a moment of mild panic.
I felt like a terrible, uncaring wife.
Because, in my sadness and through the sighs and amongst the tears I had never, NEVER classed this as being the WORST news.

Unexpected? Yes.
Life changing? Yes.
Difficult? Yes.
Worst news ever? No. Negative. Nope.

What would be worse- not having a chance to fight. And we are fighting.
What would be worse- never having found each other. And we found each other.
What would be worse- not knowing the joy of salvation. And we know that joy.
What would be worse- not having the anchor of hope. And we are anchored to hope.
What would be worse- oh so many things and tragedies could be worse than the battle we are fighting.

And here is my conclusion to WHY this cancer diagnosis, this unexpected redundant employment situation, this house-less (not homeless..we always have a home) state we currently are experiencing is NOT the WORST thing that can happen.

It's because we said so.
We decided.
We put our heads together and decided that everything happening in our world was not going to be defined as the WORST THING EVER.

Quite honestly, we are rarely going to totally and completely control what happens in and around our world. It's just foolish to think otherwise.
We had little control over the growing and spreading cancer cells.
We had no control over the unstable nature of the mining industry.
We held limited control over the ability to maintain a costly residence with depleting supply.
Everything in our world seemed to be crumbling and yet we remained fairly stable.
We are rarely going to control what happens in and around our world, but we do get to control our reactions.
We get to control our responses.
We get to decide where our hope is anchored.
We get to decide how trustworthy a promise made by Commander-of-the-angel-armies actually is.
We get to decide to have a good old sob, an ugly-face type cry, and then stop the tears. And find something to smile about.
We get to choose life.
We get to choose hope.
We get to choose to be emotional, but not be ruled by those emotions.

I get to choose to be heartbroken and heartmended all at the same time.
I get to choose to laugh at the future, not cower at the thought of tomorrow.
I get to choose life, with the surety of the painful weaved in with the beautiful.
I get to choose to say with an assurance that is neither logical or rational that everything is going to be absolutely fine.

About two days before we got the official cancer diagnosis I had a vivid, felt like real-life sort of dream. Sheldon was driving and a massive black cloud started to swirl in front of us. It was a scary looking storm. He turned to me and took my hand and I asked him, "Have you ever driven into such a big storm?" And he looked at me ( even in my dream I could tell we were both a bit frightened), and he said, "no babe..". And with that, we drove straight into the storm- a headlong hurtle.

I sang a song when I was little girl.
It had actions and everything.
You might know it.
"With Christ in the vessel I can smile at the storm,
Smile at the storm,
Smile at the storm,
As we go sailing home.."

Smile at the storm.
You can.
It's your choice.

And when you decide to smile at the storm, the storm is not the WORST thing EVER.. it's just the storm.

We have Eternity.

Here is the drop in the ocean..
Here it is.
We hold onto this drop in the ocean with ferocious tenacity.
This drop in the ocean, this life.

This. Is. Not. All. There. Is.

Imagine that forever was represented by a beach.
A never ending beach that stretches in golden sand magnificence.
And this life is a single grain of sand.
A speck in the multitude.

Imagine that forever was represented by a monsoon.
A relentlessly raining, pelting and thundering-without-ceasing storm.
And this life is a single drop of rain.
A drop in the multitude.

It's not unimportant, this speck.
It's not unnoticed, this drop among many.
It is, after all, the life we have been granted.
He gifted us this grain, this drop. He has measured us out, counted our days, set our paths.

And if this life is the one minuscule grain of sand, the one tiny drop of rain...
Then eternity is all the rest.

And we have eternity.
This. Is. Not. All. There. Is.
We have eternity.

Eternity-
It is imprinted into the very DNA of our makeup.
It is written in clear, broad brush strokes on the tablet of our heart.
It is beating a resolute rhythm in the symphony of time, of hours, of minutes, of seconds.

It is whispering, screaming, encouraging, reminding us of its timeless message-
This. Is. Not. All. There. Is.
We have eternity.

Life and living it well is hugely important. It is entirely purposeful.
But often when we are standing in the grain that is this life...
When we are in the middle of the single drop that is our earthly days...
It's entirely all consuming.
This grain.
This drop.
It's often all we see.

We are so focused on this life- this stretch of days and experience, this collection of memories and moments- that we forget.
We forget that we have eternity.
I mean, we know that we have Heaven, but we don't live like we have eternity.

When this life becomes the be all and the end all, what despair awaits.
When efforts and exertions are limited to the here and the now, what futility abounds.
This life was never meant to be the sole focus of our existence.

This. Is. Not. All. There. Is.
We have eternity.

And when the reality of "We have eternity" dominates the thoughts, the decisions and the reactions of this life....well suddenly this life looks a little different.
Suddenly a glaring light of perspective is cast upon this grain, this drop in the multitude.
Suddenly a clarity of vision is found in the midst of trial and hardship.
When tough times and upsets and goodbyes come around, and they always will, they are seen for what they truly are- reminders that just beyond the borders of this life is the waiting reality of eternity.

We have this hope.... As an anchor for the soul.
This hope of eternity.
This hope of the multitude beyond the miniscule.

My family has faced, no...stared down the inevitable. We have walked a dark valley that is shadowed with the outcomes of being mortal.
And while we steadfastly hold on to the faith declaration that Sheldon is healed in Jesus name, we have also come to this beautiful recognition of what eternity actually means.
It means:
This. Is. Not. All. There. Is.

Days have been measured out. Each one.
Paths have been set. Each step.
Eternity has been stamped so eloquently on each of our hearts. Have you heard it?
The purchaser of all eternity stands... He is our Jesus, who waits for us.

What's the plan Stan???

We are on a road trip.
Me and my favourite human being are trekking nearly 2000 kilometres up the east coast of a truly spectacular nation.
In an effort to begin to find shreds of normality amongst the upheaved moments of the past couple of months (yes... It's all only been a couple of months), we are taking one of the cars up north.
And while we drive, we are trying to come up with a plan.
We have no plan.
We have no idea really.

But we are at that point where people are asking us "So what's the plan??"
It's an entirely valid question.
One we ask ourselves..

But...
We have no plan.
We have no idea.

Here's what we do have:
We have happy,settled boys.
We have a family sacrificing to keep them happy and settled.
We have furniture and belongings being housed across Newcastle.
We have a shoe eating, escape artist dog being loved by my buddy Mr. Joel.
We have an oncologist in Sydney, where we also have more family making life easier.
We have these tiny little chemotherapy tablets that could pave the way towards that miracle we long to see.
We have hope.
We have faith.

But..we don't have a plan.

The human race, we are a people of plans.
We love to plan.
We plan our day.
We plan our holidays.
We plan for plenty and plan for none.

I love to plan.
The very act of planning for an event is more appealing to me then the event itself. (Hang around me in the weeks leading up to my sons birthday party)

And suddenly we find ourselves smack bang in the middle of No Plan Land.
And suddenly I need to be ok with the actual inability to plan.

Truth can be found in the most unlikely of places. Mike Tyson (why hello unlikely place) says of plans: "Everyone has a plan 'til they get punched in the mouth."
I had a plan.
2013 was all planned out.
Where I would go. ( yes, London. I'm talking about you.)
Where we would live.
What the days and weeks would look like.
It was our plan on how to keep living life like normal.
And then suddenly we got punched in the mouth.

So, there goes our plan.
Our forethought into 2013 went up in smoke.

But I'm ok with that.
I am.

We might not a have a plan.
But the God-of-the-angel-armies does.
He told me.
"Stress less sister..I got a plan!" That's the whispered message I got.

When my plans fall through.
When my plans turn to dust and ashes.
When what I wanted doesn't eventuate.
When we have no plan.
When we get punched in the mouth.

He's got a plan.
He truly, honestly does.