Our family has done 9 rounds of the stomach flu in the past 2 weeks and yes, it's still only 6 of us living here.  How does that even happen?! 

We've done middle of the night clean-up for HOURS, and we've done evening clean-up that required us to miss a much anticipated double date (yes, I cried - I was already dressed!!).  One little man threw up literally 11 times inside of 3 1/2 hours; for goodness' sake, he and I both thought he was going to die.  We've done 2 carpet cleaner retrievals from the far reaches and we've done, "OK, so who has to miss VBS today?"  We've done, "No one walks 5 feet without their bucket!" and we've done, "How in the world did you miss the bucket?!?!"  We've done body aches and cold clammy skin and pale faces and wet rags and we've run the dishwasher because for the first time in the history of ever we were in danger of running out of buckets. We've done early morning Walmart runs for Diet Sprite and Saltines and we've done the late night, "No, you may not have a drink because if you throw up one more time you're going to turn inside out!"  We've done lots of breathing through our mouths to avoid the "barf-o-rama", and we've done the pass-it-to-a-brother routine . . . you know, just to keep things interesting.  Neeeeeext?! 

I hate the flu.  I'm sick of the flu!  I am sick, sick, sick of the flu, and did I mention that I hate, hate, hate the flu?  There is a binding misery to so much throwing up.  If you get a runny nose, who cares? and a cough is totally manageable, but the flu?  With the flu you can't turn left or right without thinking, "Who is going to get it next and will it be on his birthday and/or in the middle of the night, and will we at some point have to break down and buy our own carpet cleaner?!"  You can't play, "Oh, he's probably not contagious," with throwing up in the same way you can with snot, so getting the flu completely takes over the calendar.  It's stressful.  It's frustrating!  It's so persistently, unbelievably gross.

But here's what I'm thinking . . .

There's been a lot of flu at our house lately.  If I accompanied every bit of it with ranting like the above, I'm going to be one pathetically grumpy mama so I'm making a list called "Sick but Grateful", and I'm not limiting it to the flu.  Please read on, get in the spirit, and then comment below with your own "Sick but Grateful".  Buckle up ~ we're going to love this!!

I'm sick of all the throwing up ~ but I'm grateful God has blessed me with all these little people who call out, "Mama!" when they're at their worst.  And that I can't get there fast enough because I am Mama, folks, and there really is no greater honor.

I'm sick of changing sheets that were clean an hour ago ~ but I'm grateful for strong laundry machines into which I can throw the dirty ones.  And for sheets!  And for beds - one for each Treasure, and a BIG one for my very tall husband and me to share, snuggled close in the middle.  And blankets to keep us warm.  And extra blankets for days and nights and weeks like this.  And did I mention strong laundry machines? 

I'm sick of having to clean the carpets ~ but I'm grateful for friends and family who are willing to loan us their carpet cleaners.  And a strong, diligent husband to run the machine.  And that we have carpet! 

I'm sick of all the throwing up ~ but I'm really grateful for a toilet to which I can direct a vomiting child.  And that a couple of our kids can direct themselves, praise Jesus!  And that said toilet is both conveniently located inside the house and flushes when we're done.  And that we even have 2 toilets for when things get really crazy!

I'm sick of it being 110 degrees in JUNE ~ but I'm grateful  that we have air conditioning in our home and cars.  And that we have access to a great community pool.  And that I am not required to wear a head-covering that goes all the way to my feet.  Ponder that for a moment, ladies. 

I'm sick of cleaning the house only to watch it get dirty again in record time ~ but I am oh so grateful that the Lord has given us a comfortable home.  And that it is filled with dirty, forgetful, learning, growing, giggling, noisy, messy life!  And that my precious messies are learning how to clean house now too (tee hee!).

I'm sick of doing the hard work in hard relationships ~ but I'm grateful that the Lord is helping me.  And growing me.  And teaching me.  And that His promises never fail.  And that obedience is always rewarded, sometimes even in this life.  And that no matter how I feel, there is always hope because there is always Jesus.

I'm sick of it taking 2 months to lose 2 pounds and only 2 days to gain them back ~ but I'm grateful for a great new workout routine.  And for all the summer fruit that is available now.  And for something that seems to be shaping up into motivation.  And that God's mercies are new every morning. 

I'm sick of figuring out what's for breakfast, lunch and dinner Every. Single. Day. when I do NOT enjoy any facet of meal preparation ~ BUT I am deeply, eternally, emotionally grateful that the Lord always, always, always, provides more than my family needs to eat.  And for variety.  And for enough to share with others. And that no one in our family has food allergies.  And that I have never had to send my sons to bed hungry.  And that I have never had to choose which child to feed this time.  And that I have never been forced to bury a small body in the hateful ground because there just wasn't enough nourishment available to sustain him.  I am so, so grateful.  

I'm sick of having migraines ~ but I'm grateful they're not as frequent as they used to be.  And that effective medication is available. And that insurance even covers it sometimes.  And that it is reasonably priced.  And that I have plenty of clean water to drink and a soft bed to lie on when I don't feel well.

I'm sick of increasingly difficult pain points in every area of life ~ but I'm grateful that I'm alive to feel the pain.  And that I know Jesus and His multi-faceted healing.  And that I'm able to share Him with others.  And that nothing is ever out of His control. 

I'm sick of cancer. 

I'm so, so, so sick of cancer ~ but I'm grateful that the Lord showed it to us really early and that Daniel is doing so well.  And that he is so brave. And that the side effects . . . oh, Lord . . . and that the side effects are really actually quite mild.  

I'm sick of cancer ~ but I'm grateful that one of the best children's hospitals in the country is 1 hour from our house.  I'm grateful for great nurses and docs, and I'm grateful for a terrific prognosis.  And that so far Daniel hasn't had any kind of relapse. 

I'm sick of chemotherapy; of packing Daniel's little body full of poison ~ but I'm grateful that cancer-killing meds are available so that the boy-killing disease can be controlled.  And that he swallows pills like a champ.  And that we don't have to give him shots at home any more.  And that the pharmacy does free mail delivery.  And that, Lord-willing, it's only for another year-and-a-half.

I am oh so sick of dealing with insurance ~ but I'm grateful that we have insurance.  And that it's great insurance.  And that cancer hasn't bankrupted and indebted our family as it certainly could have.

I am sick of uncertainty about what the future holds ~ but I am grateful that God holds my future.  And that He will never leave me or forsake me.  And that everything will work together for good because I love Him and I am called according to His purpose.  And that when I'm finished here I will see Him face to face.  And that if I continue to look to Him here, there will be no wasted pain.

I am sick of my sin and failures, but I am eternally grateful for God's mercy and grace.  And forgiveness.  And love.  And that my Name is written in the Lamb's Book of Life.  And that maybe, just maybe, in spite of my confounded brokenness, He can still use me for His glory. 

So I'm sick and tired and I'm sick of being tired and I'm tired of being sick, but mostly?  Mostly I could never breathe deep enough or shout loud enough to fully express my undying gratitude for all of God's rich blessings, nor will I ever understand why He saw fit to lavish them on me in the first place.  But I'm grateful. 

Now how about you?  I've heard it said that everyone's trying to swallow something that won't quite go down and I think that's true, don't you?  What's your "sick of"; your "won't go down", and what can you find in the midst of it to be grateful for?  Please share below and together we'll count on thankfulness to drain some power out of the punch the enemy thinks he's packing.  May gratitude focus our hearts and minds on our Faithful King and we be known as people who are filled with the resulting Jesus Joy!   

Nothing is too big or too small so don't be shy.  It's your turn . . .  Go!

Sooooooooooo,  we found out early Saturday morning that because Daniel was in-patient due to fever, he was on "droplet precautions" for the first 48 hours.  This meant he was not allowed to go to the playroom - or even leave our room!!  Oh no!  At that point his fever was down and he felt great, but Mama was sick.  And he couldn't leave the room!

I had cried and whined and begged God to give Daniel and me this little dreamland "getaway", and all the while He knew that we would not sleep a wink, Daniel would not be allowed to do his favorite thing in the whole hospital, and I would have to fight the flu laying on that rock-hard bench while my healthy kiddo bounced from wall to wall going crazy and begging me to play Go Fish for which I could barely sit upright.  The whole thing was absolutely hilarious.

Praise God I thought that because I was at the end of my rope listening to myself snivel.  We didn't have Daniel's ANC so I didn't know if we would be going home that day, but at that point it didn't matter.  I had calmed down from all my temper tantrums and said to the Lord, "Do whatever you want, OK?  I'm done trying to steer this ship!"  Daniel and I talked about this and I told him the lesson I had learned from being demanding about my way.  Then I told him we would pray about it and I asked if he wanted to stay.  He did!  I was submitted to whatever, but I kiiiind of wanted to stay too, if only because I did not have the strength to walk from here to there without a rest, let alone pack up all our belongings and schlep them from the 7th floor down to the mini van.  I was give out just thinking about it!   

Well, Daniel's ANC was still down plus I was reminded that they wanted to keep us for 48 hours after the initial blood cultures to rule out bacterial infections (I was out of practice on the whole in-patient thing!). That meant we would stay until at least Sunday evening depending on Sunday's ANC.  Fine.  Great.  NO packing today!  Perfect.  I spent the day laying on the bench like last week's dish rag trying not to think about (or catch a whiff of any) food, and Daniel spent the day watching movies.  (Let it be noted that he is not fond of watching hour after hour of TV, no sir.  This one wants to go and DO something!  But that day he was willing to sit, and I was very, very grateful.  It was a gift!) 

The next morning as we awaited the much dreaded, anticipated, loved or hated ANC, I wanted to pray about it with Daniel.  I asked him if he wanted to go home or stay and he said, "I just want whatever God wants."  How sweet, I thought and then I asked again, "OK, Buddy, but what do you want?"  I'll never forget the look in his eyes when my precious 5 year-old son said, "No really, Mama.  I want it to be whatever God wants!"

I was deeply encouraged in that moment.  My son is better at this than I am!  Maybe I'm not messing it up as badly as I thought... 

 Hmmmmm, no, I messed this one up pretty badly and no two ways about it.  Let's see . . . OK, maybe in spite of messing it up badly, my son was able to see me admit my wrongs and re-submit my heart to the Lord.  Yes!  And maybe, just maybe, he's learning to do the same . . .

Thankfully Daniel's ANC was back up (in record time!) and we were able to head home around 5:00 Sunday evening.  It was just enough of a crummy hospital stay to a.) give me my way, b.) teach me that "my way" isn't all it's cracked up to be, c.) remind me I don't actually know anything, d.) re-submit my heart to the Lord and whatever He wants, and of course, e.) . . .

Lots of "hot chotlick".  ;)

Lord, please forgive me for throwing a fit when I didn't get my way this time around.  Thank you for giving me my way and letting me learn an important lesson from getting it.  Thank you, both for being gentle with me and for not letting me off the hook too easily.  Thank you for the time with my precious Nanamoo and the things we got to learn together. Thank you for healing Daniel from that high fever and protecting him from every serious infection.  And thank you for hot chocolate. 

The End.

Be careful what you ask for - you just might get it! 

This is the phrase that ran through my head over and over again as out hospital stay commenced.  We got to our room around 7:00 and the first thing I noticed is that we were right across from the nursing station.  OK.  No problem, I'm sure.  It will be fine.

The playroom was closed and we had already eaten so we just settled in.  The challenge of am impromptu stay like ours is whether or not to unpack everything or wait until morning to see if we would be discharged before lunch.  Having in the past vacillated in this no man's land for days at a time, I went ahead and unpacked just to have done with it. Seven o'clock is shift change for the nurses so there's a lot of hubbub and general fuss, but we're used to that.  I made my bed - blankets and sheets spread over a bench under the window, and we got Daniel into jammies.  Another thrill of hospital life is watching movies in bed so I told Daniel he could watch a movie while he fell asleep.  But he didn't fall asleep.  Finally around 10:00 I just asked the nurse to please turn it off after he was asleep and I went to bed.  Tired. Mama.

And thus our night began . . .  The nurse was a super sweet gal  - no complaints there - but unfortunately, how to say, she did not have the skill of doing her job quietly.  She was in and out a couple of times but the TV was still on at 11:30 so I got up and turned it off.  After that it seemed like someone was in our room every 45 minutes the whole night.  Thankfully they didn't turn on the overhead lights (as we have experienced in the past), but every entrance was announced with a slam on the door handle, all garbage was crackly-crumpled before it was thrust into our large garbage can the lid of which was then allowed to crash down . . .  Then I would juuuuust about get back to sleep when the relentlessly squeaky vitals cart would limp in, the blood pressure cuff would do its buzz-click-buzz, and the door would slam shut again.  Lord?? 

I lay on my bed thinking, "Oh yeah, I remember this.  Not a vacation resort quite so much as a place of torture where sleep is sadistically not permitted!  OK, Lord, you win.  I got what I squalled about and now I'm paying the piper.  I am ever so sorry that I fussed!!  Um, OK, so now can she please not slam that door again?"

This was the conversation that played in my head from 12:00 - 2:30 (since, what the heck? I wasn't sleeping anyway!) but around 2:30 with every slam, bang, crackly-crump I started getting mad.  The conversation became, "Are you absolutely kidding me?!!!!!  I know this is your day time, Honey, but did you know that I did day time already and I'm getting ready to do it again very soon??  Did you know there are two people in this room who are trying to sleep?!  Are you even serious about slamming that trash can again?  Do you delight in the sound of that trash being crunched up because, I assure you, I am not delighted!!"  I'm sure at any point I could have asked her to please be quieter or get a vitals cart that didn't squeak but I was so exhausted and mad I did not trust myself to even speak.  Yeah, OK, my fault.  Finally I abandoned the idea of sleeping and lay in bed mentally formulating lesson plans for a nurses' in-service I could offer to teach - Nursing Well While Others Sleep.  Oh yeah, I could totally teach that!!

Anyway, that went on literally all night long until at 5:00 a.m. a doctor tip-toed in ever so carefully and then . . . wait for it . . . threw on the overhead light!  Shooting through the fog of exhausted half-sleep I sat bolt upright in bed (bench?) as all the aggravation of the past 8 hours came positively flying out of my mouth in 3 words wrapped thick with a tone completely foreign to even my own ears: "Oh my GOSH!!"  Daniel woke up with a start, and our day had begun!  I wanted to cry.  Or hit someone.  Or both. 

We had our talk with the doc (sans violence - phew!) and immediately as she was leaving the room a powerful sensation came over me and, uh oh.  Oh NO!  I had to make a flying RUN to the bathroom where it became very plain in a hurry that I had . . . wait for it . . . the flu!

Ha ha ha.  Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!!!!  HA HA HA HA HA!!!  Oh my goodness I felt absolutely terrible but inside I was laughing to beat the band:

Be careful what you wish for - you just might get it!!  And oh how I had "gotten it".

To Be Continued . . .  (last one, I promise!)

So I'm sorry to point out here at the beginning of Part 3, that the end of Part 2 was pretty ugly. 

I can only imagine it seemed selfish and immature and short-sighted and that's because it was.  What mother is sad when her child is sent home from the hospital?  What wife is ungrateful for the privilege of spending the day with her family in lieu of sticking her man with 'round the clock Daddy Duty for who knows how long?!  What godly person gets SO bent out of shape about one particular prayer not being answered? 

Now, let me say one thing here real quick: I never thought Daniel was in any danger.  I would never want something for myself that I thought would be detrimental to my son.  The sum total of all our experience is that whenever Daniel gets admitted for a fever, we stay in the hospital until the fever goes down, the ANC comes up, and that's it.  He doesn't even usually feel yucky!  I know, however, that some of you have fought some scary-nasty infections alongside cancer so I'm deeply sorry if this seems sacrilegious to you.  Our hospital stays have never had much more to do with anything other than geography but still, people, it's almost ridiculous to write a disclaimer because the raw unvarnished truth is this: the whole thing was pretty ugly.    

I woke up Friday morning feeling positively cheated out of a refreshing vacation experience with my young son who also felt cheated, and though Daniel recovered, I could not pull myself together.  Such opportunities withheld!  Such rest not provided!  Such UNpacking to do!  In my journal I likened it to doing all the hard work for a much-needed vacation - planning, packing, driving, then arriving at my destination only to do all the work in reverse, late at night, and then getting up in the morning for a long day of work!  I sat at my computer journaling and crying and generally throwing a temper tantrum over not getting my way.

Ahhhhhhhh, there's the rub.  Shoot! 

I realized in a shock of devastating personal exposure that my entire problem in one sentence was that I was throwing a fit about not getting my way.  And "my way" was even stupid!  After 4 kids, 1 miscarriage, 7 years of medical school, and a cancer diagnosis, I seriously thought I was a little bit more "over" myself than this!  It was a discouraging revelation to say the least. 

Then I was sitting there writing, weeping, and generally being human soup all over the place having to also recognize that, in addition to all my disappointment and feelings of being exhausted and overwhelmed by the days ahead, I was also failing grossly in almost every critical department!!!  Aaaaggghhhh!!!!!!  And on that note I had to go out to the kitchen and teach school.  It's almost a little bit comical now that I'm looking back, but that morning I was an absolute wreck.

When I came out of my office, it became evident that Daniel still had a fever.  Mixed feelings all around (for which I felt like a big jerk again - still? some more? Whatever . . .).  He was still perky and "himself", but his fever was persistent.  We had been told that his ANC number was "good" for 24 hours even with fever, but I didn't really want to wait until 7 p.m. to start the whole ER process again, plus we had indication from labs the night before that he might require a blood transfusion so I wanted to do that (if needed) at clinic rather than in the ER.  After I called the clinic nurse and received some direction, Chad and I decided that if the fever was still high at 1:00-1:30, I would take him back.  Thankfully I could take him to the West side PCH urgent care/clinic that time.  Except no, wait!  We needed an appointment for that.  Except no, wait!  We got an appointment, cool.  Except no, wait!  They couldn't do that after all, so back to the main campus we would have to go.  But clinic, right?  Nope, we'd need an appointment for that . . .  I relayed this information to Chad in a text signed: Love, The Human Yo-Yo.  The whole thing did absolutely nothing for my already rotten disposition.

Finally we were re-packed and on our way with a fever that had not dipped below 100.4 all day.  I was grateful to be going because I was getting a little concerned about that fever, and I didn't relish the idea of going all weekend with Daniel's hemoglobin teetering right around at the acceptable level.  Daniel and I both absolutely abhor when he has to have a blood transfusion, but I'm told hemoglobin is pretty important so I was glad we were checking on it.  Daniel was glad we were going because it gave him another shot at getting admitted, and, even though I was concerned about his health at that point, I have to confess that I was with him on that one.  But only because I'm a jerk. 

We got there, got inside, prayed over our desired outcome even as we discussed the possibility of the opposite happening, Daniel endured two more IVs - sheesh!, the antibiotics flowed once again and we waited, waited, waited.  Tomato soup and hot chocolate were ordered and they got there just in time because the verdict was in: his ANC was down to 480.  We were staying.   

Buuuuuuut . . . you've all heard it said, "Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it!"?    You'll see very soon why that one sentence rolled around and around in my head for the next three days.

To Be Continued . . .  

OK, so if you read Part 1, you know that when we left off, Daniel and I were en route to the hospital because he had a fever.  Some fevers we can ignore, like the 99.8 of the night before.  Thursday's 102.4, however, could not be ignored. 

I was grateful to have called ahead to the clinic area of the hospital because they called ahead to emergency.  This is especially critical because of Daniel's suppressed immune system.  He canNOT sit in the petri dish of an ER waiting room so it goes like this: we walk in, Daniel and I don masks before we say hello. I say our name and "leukemia" in the same sentence, and inside of 3 minutes we are in an isolated room.  Praise God!

Unfortunately on that night two attempts were required to establish an IV, but Daniel is tough as nails and he didn't even fuss.  Temp was 103. 

At this point you are probably entertaining a mental picture of a listless, feverish, blond-haired waif, but I have to set the record straight: Daniel is as spunky and personable with a 103 degree fever as he is without it.  It's a mystery to be sure, but I'll tell you, I recall one particular 3 a.m. ER visit during which Daniel entertained the socks off of everyone the entire time while his mother wanted nothing more than to lie down on the floor and die (though in my defense I had not taken an hour-long nap in the car, but I digress . . .)  This night was no different for Daniel who was funny and sweet and charmed all the nurses until they positively giggled and never let ten minutes pass without saying, "Mama, can we play Go Fish?!"  It's almost as though this kid refuses to feel sick!    

For a couple of reasons I was 95% sure we would be admitted.  First, Daniel's fever was going up instead of down.  Not good.  Second, to be sent home, his ANC (Absolute Neutrophil Count) had to be over 500.  ANCs are unpredictable sometimes, but a week and a half prior his had only been 446 and since then he had gotten sick, a sure sign that it would have gone down, not up.  I had packed for a long haul and Daniel and I were both prepared for one.  As I mentioned in Part 1, the last time Daniel had a fever, we were in the hospital for 10 days waiting for his ANC to rebound.  This night as we sat in that little room while antibiotics flowed into his system and awaited word on his ANC, I asked Daniel if he most wanted to sleep at the hospital or go home.  He assured me he wanted to stay and when asked, I confessed that I wanted to stay too.  Then we prayed about this together and discussed what each of us likes about staying at the hospital.  His answers involved tomato soup and hot chocolate at every meal, playing in the playroom, seeing friends, and a LOT of one on one time with Mama.  My answers were that it's quiet there and I get a LOT of one on one time with my Nanoo.  I discreetly declined to mention that a hospital admission also provides a temporary escape from the never-ending challenges and duties of life at home that I am frequently too heart-weary to perform well.  I know how to be successful as an inpatient cancer-mom.  Lately the rest is dicey at best.

Anyway, we saw a couple of docs, ordered dinner (including tomato soup and hot chocolate!) and waited for the ANC.  Then we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Good grief, everything that night took For. Stinking. Ever!!  I knew I couldn't count my chickens yet but alas, they had been counted and I allowed myself to feel grateful that I wouldn't have to drive the hour home.  With the migraine that continued to brew after the CRAZY night before, I allowed myself to be thankful that soon we would be able to just go upstairs and sleep!  No school tomorrow.  No chores or hustle-bustle.  No doctor's apt. across town or driving to Friday night activities . . .

Finally after around 3 hours of Go Fish, a doctor popped in and said, "Hey, great news!  His ANC is 640 and we're going to get you guys out of here!"    

We were dumbfounded.  We were thunderstruck!  When the doctor left, Daniel started to cry and I had to fight so I wouldn't cry too!  We just couldn't believe it.  No playroom; no friends; no peace and quiet or one on one time; no reprieve from duties and expectations.  Good grief - we were disappointed!!  I texted the news to Chad and some friends who had been praying but with every "Praise God" and "Great news!" that came in reply, I felt so alone because I couldn't explain that I was sad about being sent home.  I felt like a common criminal, frankly, and I didn't know how to navigate that.  It took another hour to get discharged before we drove home and I cried myself to sleep, greatly exacerbating my headache I'm sure, not to mention making me feel like such a jerk!  Ugh, what a mess.    

Well, the next day our crazy mess got messier still. 

To Be Continued . . .

Daniel spiked a fever last week. 

Now, all the boys have been sick lately, just the creeping crud that pretty much everyone has had, but when they get a fever, I get out the Tylenol.  When Daniel gets a fever, I get out the suitcases. 

There's a protocol to follow when a cancer patient spikes a fever and the two-fold reason is because of a.) the risk that the infection might be serious, and b.) that his suppressed immune system won't be able to fight it alone. We've never had a bad scare, but it can be a pretty big deal so we have to pay attention to a fever.

Daniel first started feeling really warm Wednesday evening right before the AWANA awards ceremony - his first ever Sparky award!!  His temp was elevated but still within an acceptable range so off to church we went.  After he received his award - yeah!!  :) - I hugged him and thought, oh no.  He felt so hot!  Chad borrowed a thermometer from the nursery, but thankfully he was still in a healthy range.  Whew!  

It probably seems silly but I'm telling you all the details to give a sense of what a fuss it is.  I simply don't want to have to figure out how to take my 5 year-old's temperature in the middle of church, but we have to.  Thankfully we didn't have to leave in the middle of church!  The rest of the night his temp was elevated but OK and everyone went to bed.  Until midnight.

At midnight another boy came to the side of the bed and said, "Mama, I kind of spit up a little bit."  Oh man.  That's a bummer but OK, a "little bit" of "spit up" is totally manageable.  Given that I had taken Nyquil at bedtime it took my brain a minute to locate my legs but once we were assembled I got my Treasure situated on the couch and went into the boys' room to find the single-worst vomit disaster our family has ever sustained.  Oh. My. Word. I will spare you any further details except to say that it was not just the Nyquil talking that in trying to decide how to proceed I considered at least twice per minute the possibility of just selling the house.  Now, Chad and I have a standing arrangement: he cleans up behind pets and I clean up behind people; period, paragraph with very little deviation.  It's a brilliant arrangement for both of our sakes, but this night I needed back up and no two ways about it, especially since I couldn't really see straight and the best solution I could come up with involved procuring a real estate agent. The end result was that I cleaned up all the furniture, stuffed animals, and Lego buckets while my brave, dependable and far less inebriated husband made the cross-town trek to borrow a carpet cleaner (thanks, Grandpa for insisting on meeting him halfway!).  I went back to bed after an hour whereas Daddy was up until 4:00 preserving our flooring.  What a night!  I awoke frequently to the roar of the carpet cleaner thinking, "Oh NO!  Am I being punished?  What did I do?!" and then realizing that Chad was in there taking one for the team.  More than once I fell back asleep so grateful that Jesus took my place with the carpet cleaner; no wait, that's not right . . . I don't know; something like that."  I'm telling you, this is the stuff migraines positively feed on!

Thursday my well-fed migraine was thriving, the sick brother was on the couch, and Daniel still wasn't feeling very well but he was fever free - right up until 3:00.  Seriously?!  Another standing arrangement is that when Daniel goes to the hospital, I go with him while Chad stays home to wrangle the other 3 boys.  It's what works best for everyone.  Soooo, I packed food, activities, and a suitcase knowing that Daniel would likely be admitted to the hospital (last time it was for 10 days), and Chad packed some things for Daniel.  Oy!  Then we were off to Phoenix Children's Hospital (by way of the mechanic to pick up the van no less - because did I mention that life is messy?!)  It's about an hour drive to PCH and we left three very sad faces in our wake (because Daniel's brothers remember last time too). 

The rest of the evening was not at all what we expected.

To Be Continued . . .        

I like it when things are tidy.  I can work in a mess, but then at the end?  Let's get this place cleaned up!  Two or three times a day we do a "house sweep" because with 4 boys at home all day, it doesn't take long for the place to look like a Walmart train went off the tracks in the living room.

A mess is unsettling to me.  It's tiring.  It's stressful!  I feel chaotic inside when things are chaotic around me and I'm the boss around here so "OK guys, it's time for a house sweep!".   

My sister, Karen, said it best when she said this: "Life is messy!" 

It's a common catch phrase now but that was the first time I had heard someone articulate the very thing that was constantly grating against my sensibilities.  Thankfully hearing it out loud helped me view it differently: life is very messy.

And. That's. OK. 

When I was first married and mothering I cleaned house like someone's life depended on it.  I didn't even particularly care about things being perfectly clean, I just thought that's what a "good wife" should do.  It grieves me now to look back on the baby- and toddlerhoods of our two oldest sons.  I missed so much of them!  I spent so much time cleaning house and spring-cleaning the house and keeping up the house - and so little time just sitting, holding my babies.  With our third child I had a.) begun to learn the value of cherishing my children and b.) flat-out run out of time to "baby" my house so I had also started to come into balance.  It was our fourth-born though that really clicked me into center on the issue.  When Daniel was born Chad was working on medical school requirements around 100 hours a week so I did pretty much everything else.  I was fine with that but it didn't take long to recognize that schooling a second grader, juggling two toddlers, nursing a newborn AND keeping up the house wasn't even an option.  I remember saying to my father-in-law, "I used to think 'piles' were only for dirty laundry!  Now I'm just glad when there's something clean to grab from somewhere!"  I virtually abandoned the house with the exception of keeping it safe and livable and guess what I did?  I sat in a chair and I held that baby.  Praise God I didn't miss them all . . .

When Josiah was around 3 someone gave me the idea of pouring flour on the floor and letting him play in it.  I though that sounded crazy!  It sounded so, so . . . messy!!  But I'll tell you what - I gritted my teeth and I dumped half a bag of flour out on the tile and that boy just played and played and giggled and touched and played and felt and smiled and dug around in that flour.  It was awesome!  It was a pain to clean up but that was nothing compared to the joy he and I shared over half a bag of flour! 

Now there are dishes on the counter and laundry in piles and shoes strewn about but I recognize that all of these are signs of life!  There's also the training of young men in the doing of chores and the responsibility of being part of a family and sometimes that process is messier than the house will ever be!

The noise at our house is almost constant and some of it is not pleasant.  As one of my Treasures would say, "Mama, that squeaks my ears!"  The bickering and arguing and complaining are draining and discontentment squeaks my ears, but they are part of life and life is messy.  I would like it if my children were loving and polite to each other all the time but they aren't and I'm not always loving and polite either.  It's because we all have a little bit of a mess inside of us and here in this thing called family, in this place called home - this is where I pray we will be blessed with the freedom to be our real, messy selves.  

Some messes can be cleaned up and some can't, but I have to remember that messes of every kind are made by people and people are precious to the Lord.  Apart from God Himself, only two things are eternal: God's Word and people.  So Lord Jesus, help me to look at the people and put up with the mess rather than focusing on the mess and - sometimes not very successfully - putting up with the people. 

More often than not there's a Lego everywhere I look and, though I know Legos are bound to be the death of some of you, I have to confess - I feel so happy when I see (yes, even step on) Legos.  Our boys live and breathe Legos every day of their lives and I know there will be a time after they've gone that I'll look around my neat, tidy house, thinking, "There's nothing I wouldn't give to come across a Lego."  But there won't be one.  Today, however, is not that day ~ and I rejoice in the tangible reality.

At our house we celebrate when the toilet clogs because it is a reminder that this is the second year in a row that our proud provider of plumbing problems will not spend the better part of a week in the hospital for chronic constipation.  Yep, life is messy.  Messy, but glorious.

Sometimes messy is incredibly beautiful . . . like the rolling sparkle-sweet that pops in Josiah's rich, contagious laughter.

        ~ Daniel's gentle, baby-soft hand rubbing my cheek as his jam-sticky lips whisper, "Mama, I just love you so much!!"

               ~ Growing sons running around the yard bent in half trying to corral the last of the chickens, laughing to beat the band, filled with the joy of boyhood and the sun-soaked contentment of our little 'farm' here in the suburbs.

Sometimes the messiness of life rages out of control and I realize that for all my fancy talk I don't actually want to play in the big leagues!!  I much prefer to pontificate about the rich depths of faith in God and all He can do; then double check tomorrow's To Do list, kiss my babies good night and sleep peacefully the whole night through.  But as it turns out, sometimes life is really, really messy . . . 

Sometimes one of those precious babies gets diagnosed with a life-threatening disease and we weep the night through asking God if this mess can even be cleaned up!  Sometimes God-given dreams get put on hold while we struggle to wait on the Lord because only He could ever deal with this mess.  Sometimes all of a sudden the finances are not what we thought they were going to be and Lord?  What do we do with this mess?!  Relationships flounder and fail and sometimes private tragedies leave us feeling ashamed and we try to hide our mess.  But friends?  We all have a mess of one kind or another!  

I love what Job had to say about it; Job, an ancient fellow supremely qualified to speak to us in our today-mess.  He said, "Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?"  He also said the following; one of the most humble things he could have said given his tragically ravaged situation: "I know my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth.  And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God."  Even when the worst possibility has become reality, God is to be trusted.   

When I feel bogged down in overwhelming mess of every kind I remember what my gracious God has promised:  "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you hope and a future!'"  God, with all His power and all His love, is in control of this whole crazy mess!  There is absolutely nothing beyond His ability to affect His perfect plan for your precious life and for mine!

So today, rest.  Trust!  And please, be encouraged . . .  Even if things seem a bit messy. 

There are definitely those times when grace is like a wellspring: that rushing, pouring, splashing, laughing, relieving, refreshing flow.  I love that.  I crave that!  This blog was born out of that. 

But grace doesn't always feel like that. 

I have found that there are many times when I have to go looking for the grace - or I think I do . . .  I find myself weary and worn and feeling parched; too far away from where I belong; cut off somehow from the only Source that can sustain me.  Sometimes I wander off myself; other times I engage in interactions that, before I know it, have entangled me in such a way that I'm tripping down muddy roads, rolling down thorny hills, and generally making a mess of taking myself the way wrong direction.  Sigh . . . 

It's funny - for as much as I try not to sigh, I sure do sigh quite a bit.  Sometimes it's the best breathing I can manage.  Big deep breath, in, In, IN, fight for it - and then? Ooooouuuuuuuuuut in a big, long . . . sigh. 

Turns out life can be one big, ongoing temptation to sigh.  Frustration, discouragement, straight up rotten circumstances, and Lord knows everybody is some kind of tired. 

My little world is rife with difficulty right now: disease, discouragement, disagreements, and relentless disappointment are all playing their part to weigh me down into darkness and oh Lord, I am some kind of tired.  But here's what I know:

Even when grace isn't rushing, flowing, streaming all over everywhere in joyful gurgles and pops . . .

                                                there is always, always enough. 

It was Jesus who said, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."  If His power is made perfect in my weakness, then more weakness = more power!  I need to be constantly reminded that weakness isn't a raging pox, it's a recipe for power!  The less of me there is, then the more room there will be for Him.  Reminding myself . . . reminding you . . . (reminding myself . . .)

Some of you know exactly what I'm talking about . . . you have recently had to take yet another loan to pay for bills you thought would be well-covered by now, and the bills keep rolling in.  Some of you have had to pack up after the never-expected-heart-breaking divorce was finalized and you still keep getting up and going to work looking all around everywhere for just one drop of grace.  Some of you have had to lower your too-small Warrior into the dark cold ground and somehow keep breathing in and out for the other children all the while knowing what it is to not feel the grace at all . . .

Some of you are fighting the grip of fear as you await test results and the very blood runs cold every time the phone jangles nerves red-raw with the waiting and being afraid.  Some of you know what I'm talking about when I say it's often difficult to sense the running-over glory of God's amazing grace because you're just trying to make it through one more day thank you very much. 

Jesus, we can't take it!!  We read about a strong brave daddy and his two daughters in the prime of life killed in their home when a raging tornado ripped apart every safe trusted thing and how is a wounded mama supposed to raise their other seven shattered Treasures on her own? 

Big ideas are strangled little by little as we tear off page after page of the calendar; days passing, dreams perishing, darkness pervading as we take yet another step in what feels like the got-to-do-it direction we never exactly intended to go.  Hearts are broken and bleeding where no one ever sees the scars and some are just plum wore out with the ruthless every-dayness of every-body and every-thing that Never. Lets. Up.

We're tired and thirsty, Lord and we are dying for a drop of your grace.

Then I read from Isaiah 35, "Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knees that give way; say to those with fearful hearts, 'Be strong, do not fear; your God will come, He will come with vengeance; with divine retribution He will come to save you.  No lion will be there nor will any ferocious beast get up on it; they will not be found there.  But only the redeemed will walk there, and the ransomed of the Lord will return.  They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads.  Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away." 

Oh how I need to be steadied and strengthened - then my God will come and I have no need to fear!  Though the cancer treatments gnaw away at my littlest Lamb and I'm not nearly as brave as he is - still there is nothing to fear.  In the midst of all the other sorrow and uncertainty when I feel I cannot take another step, my God will come to save me.  My God will come to save me from my own weakness and failings, and to make His power perfect. 

Gladness and joy are in hot pursuit and they will overtake me and we will roll in the grass together with laughter bubbling up as the sorrow and even the blasted sighing will flee away, desperate to escape the scene where clearly they never did belong in the first place.  

This is a picture of God's boundless love for and protection of me, His redeemed and ransomed little one whose head He will one day crown with Ever. Lasting. Joy.  It gives me hope and it encourages me to take the next step.  My God is in control and His power is made perfect in my weakness.  Oh boy, no shortage of that . . .

There's so much I don't understand and I feel deeply weary in the desperate daily doing of it all but if there's one rock solid eternal truth I know it's this: when nothing makes sense and nothing adds up and the hearts are nothing but broken, Jesus is always, always here.

And His grace is always enough. 

I was at the craft store kind of spur of the moment.  I wanted to get in and out quick – lots to do – but as I approached the remarkably crowded registers, my thinking slowed and I began to see people. 

Really see them. 

The woman wearing a ball cap to cover her lack of hair from chemo; not one, but two women with oxygen tanks in tow… one of them carried a small baby on the other hip.

I was struck by the brokenness before me.  The pain concealed behind a thin veil of distraction - looking for the perfect paint brush; choosing dog stickers for the scrapbook. 

One of the tank-toting women had clearly smoked for decades but I felt no condemnation for her because it was standing in line at Hobby Lobby that I realized with a jolt of clarity - it is our own brokenness that crushes us further.  The crowded counter gave me time for conjecture: perhaps she first courted nicotine when she was only 15 seeking from friends the acceptance she had never felt elsewhere; maybe it was in college when she was stressed from working two jobs and making the grades; possibly out of the pain of abuse from a man who had promised to love her?  Maybe she just straight up wanted to try it, but once she did, the allusion of comfort took deep root and nothing punishes misery quite like addiction. 

The craving became a cruel master as the young woman's voice became gasping gravel.  Her beautiful face was etched deep with the effort to soothe jangled nerves, and the lungs hardened requiring her to carry her own air.  This added burden is her only prize for all the previous grief – she is literally dying from all her broken attempts to stop the bleeding.   

At clinic we see painful brokenness all the time but Lord, the mess we saw the other day!  Every single kiddo was dramatically ill and it was horrifying; I've never seen anything like it. Jesus, please have mercy!  All those little lambs, badly busted up but still looking at me and cracking a smile as I grinned too and tried not to weep . . .  My heart was so unstable already, I almost couldn’t bear it.  For some things there's just no help to be had from a pill you can swallow . . .

I even dreamed one night about brokenness.  Things kept breaking!  My wedding ring broke –  just randomly in the middle of the air this precious golden symbol fell apart and dropped off of my hand.  It landed in a huge trash pile, spronged all wrong - and why was I standing knee deep in trash?  Feeling my ring pop off, I reached, scrambling to retrieve it, going up to the elbows in filth.  That's not how it's supposed to be!  Other things were breaking too – cars, bones, everything was breaking.  I felt overwhelmed with despair by the relentless and pervasive sense of significant damage.

So what is there to do when the heart hunches heavy under weight I can’t see or understand, and the tears flow making soggy everything that seemed right and beautiful before so much brokenness?  Days when I can’t think straight or feel straight so Lord knows I can’t talk straight because it’s everything inside that’s crooked and sometimes I don’t know what to do with any of it.

Lord, it’s times like these that I can only fall on your grace.  I cannot “move forward” if I can’t move at all, yet somehow – if only I will remember to do so – I can fall forward to you; flooding you wet with my tears; and there’s comfort in having Someone there to soak them up. 

You know every last crooked place inside of me, yet you long to embrace me even when I walk determined down crooked paths; speak crooked words; see everything through crooked lenses.  It is perhaps I who am most broken.

Thank you, Lord that it is in my weakness, that your power is made perfect.  Your grace is sufficient.  By definition:

                                                 Your grace is enough.

Thank you, Lord, that you came to make all the crooked roads straight and the rough ways smooth. (Luke 3:5) Thank you that you are here to bind up the wounds deep in our souls where we are most in need of mending. (Psalm 147:3)  Thank you that you came to be our Perfect Lamb; to give your body to be broken so you could be "close to the brokenhearted and to save those who are crushed in spirit."  (Psalm 34:18)  Thank you for the loving compassion you pour out to the weak, wounded, and weary, for all of us are all of these.

There is a lot that modern medicine can fix, but so much more that it can't.  Thank you, Jesus that it is when we are worst shattered that you can best re-shape us.  And if we continue to fall toward you, the result of all this confounded brokenness will be that we are more like you in the end.   Thank you that those who look to you are radiant, and our faces are never covered with shame.  (Psalm 34:5)

May I be struck by the beauty of that . . .