The last time I posted, I was on semi-bed-rest for what we thought was cracked ribs. I couldn't have known then, as I typed about obedience and following, especially when plans don't work out, that something much more sinister was brewing in my bones.

As April slipped into May and difficulty walking became a more serious issue causing us to push our Eastward travel plans out, my health faded fast. Yet, by Divine intervention, doctors appointments scheduled a month out suddenly got fast-tracked and, two whole weeks early I was sitting in front of an Oncologist discussing labs. Kidney function was dropping, no one, as yet, knew for sure the full picture. What we did know was that our next stop was ER for admittance.

What ensued is still a blur. All the tests the Oncologist needed for determination were suddenly STAT. There was an MRI, a CT, Bone Scans and more. "Surgery before spine crumbles", ICU, put to sleep for 24 hours... still all swirl around my mind like a vague dream. I remember the "kids" (all grown) even my youngest and her hubby from 8 hours away with baby-bump on board, sitting in chairs around my hospital bed talking of life as I drifted in and out. All of them were sporting temporary "tattoos" declaring "Myeloma, in this family no one fights alone", and their strained faces as I could see they tried to be strong.

'Is this the end' my mind wondered.

The days which followed slipped in and out, pain meds, healing meds, talk of chemo. Ashley sat by my bedside every moment she wasn't at work, taking notes from doctors for me since my muddled mind just couldn't make sense. My husband would clock out at the end of his work day and come sit with me till bedtime. After, what I think was, a week, we dialed back pain meds and I was finally able to formulate the scope of all that was happening.

Multiple Myeloma. A rare form of bone marrow cancer. It had been praying on my bones for the past few years, flying undetected by standard tests. The rib pain I had been feeling in recent months - myeloma. The back pain and difficulty walking - a cluster of cysts forming a tumor wrapped around my spine, eating away at the bone. The surgery? Rods, fuses, cages... I will now set off metal detectors wherever I go! But my back is stronger and it has a support system as we proceed with chemo, to strip away all those bad Cancer cells which will ultimately leave a shell my doctors hope to build back on.

I will admit, when I first began to understand what was really happening, I was scared. I asked God, "Why", a most human reaction. Yet, as each day in hospital rolled by and He sent nurses and helpers to my bedside who were thirsty for Him, I was reminded of how humble and small our lives are, yet how big and magnified He is when we use those moments for his glory.

By June I was able to return home. The familiar drive seemed high-definition after so long in a dim brown hospital room. I entered the hospital in spring and now, suddenly, it was summer. Everyone's life rolled along as mine remained suspended. Lawns being mowed, birds flitting, children riding bikes.

Life is so precious.

It has taken time to really unpack my thoughts and understand. I'm a plan-ahead kinda gal, I always like to have my ducks in a row, with an itinerary for how they are getting there! I like to think all things are building to some thing bigger than self, yet, for sometime, I've also been acutely aware of how I believe that to a fault - missing the value of tiny moments and tiny actions which may lead nowhere except right.here.

And here I am.

I felt like a no-body, some lady living a little ole life of insignificance. If those days in hospital were my last, what was I leaving behind, what was my legacy? This life, which, if lost tomorrow, would have no more impact than an ant under a boot. Yet, remembering the circle of love in my vague in-and-out hospital room, reminded me how each of our lives means something more to those we do life with. Our small absence in a large world, is an impassible void for those who hold us near. I came to the humble realization that I had been doing certain parts of my life all wrong - always striving for what can reach out, I was missing the extreme value of what is to reach in. Into my now grown children, into my husband, into friends and family beyond our walls. If I never sell another book, yet God's good wisdom is poured through me to them in little moments, I have seen God's victory. If I never make another blanket or scarf or craft to sell, but my hands work to clothe and comfort only them, I have seen God's victory.

I am not Myeloma, I am not cancer. But this battle is one I am called to walk through and I no longer ask "why" or "how". Each step of the way God has taken me by the hand, He has carried me, He has pulled me close. I'm no longer planning in neon lights, rather, I'm humbly kneeling before my Lord and seeking His lead.

As the surgeon released me to start Chemotherapy, there was a buzz around my room. The lights were dim, I had no idea what to expect. The oncologist said we have really great odds of pushing into remission... with God, I know, anything is possible. I had seen my daily lab results that morning. Myeloma hadn't stolen all of my white blood cells, as it often does. A contingent hung back. Nurses swarmed my bed, family in the room at that moment hung back, chatting quietly. A tear slipped down my cheek as I inwardly whispered, "God, I can't do this, I'm scared" and suddenly, in the dark buzz of that moment, I recalled Israel's history, as an underdog in many battles, only a small contingent by their side - then God, sending the angle of the Lord, in glowing armor, with legions upon legions on every side, collecting on a ridge and prepared to sweep through the valley of darkness and completely wipe out all evil. The needle was prepped, the administering nurse covered in surgical gear stood above me now and in that moment I knew - I was not fighting this battle - God was/is. He had not left nor forsaken me, He was right there. "Here goes" the surgically clad nurse queued and I began to pray in my heart, realizing, sometimes God uses armor and shields to fight our battles, yet others, he uses vials of liquid - no matter the implement, God is still fighting our battles. All I had to do was cling to the hem of His robe and Trust.

Every day since, and every infusion since, I lean into that Truth... into the God who counts tiny ole me as precious and worthy as any other in His magnificent creation. With each shot and each pill, the legions of the Lord are fighting and I am believing for remission yet trusting no matter what.

The first month of chemo was hard. Days where it was difficult to walk through the weakness, emotional tears from weariness, sleeping for hours on end. This week has been my first break from therapy, mobility increasing, cloudiness left on the horizon. I've been trying to use some of this time to dig a bit more and prepare to be well equipped as we jump into another 5 straight weeks of therapy and tests. It seemed as though God was magnifying one of my husband's favorite verses:

But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. ~ Matthew 6:33 ~

It seemed trite at first, 'yes, I know, seek first...', until I felt drawn to read it in context. I had forgotten how much more powerful 6:33 is in the big picture:

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all... ~Matthew 6:25-32 ~

Everywhere I turn, the message is the same: God has got this.

Chemo is hard - God has got this.

Recovering back surgery is challenging - God has got this.

No insurance and piles of medical bills - God has got this.

What is on the other side of cancer - God has got this.

So I get out of His way and let Him fight. The less I try to make sense, the more it makes sense! The less I strain to make something happen, the more He moves and makes things happen!!

I could have died in May, had my appointments remained, but God moved in hearts and awareness to expedite all eyes on my health, calling me in weeks early for testing and all that followed.

I could have been paralyzed by my spine, but God put the right doctors and team members around me to fix things before they were fully broken.

Despite medication side-effects, I am recovering speedily and well, even though many of these meds usually slow the healing process - God is at work.

In the midst of it all, God has put nurses, professionals, and even 'regular small' people like me in my path and called me to Testify, and I have because this, too, is HIS work.

Going forward, I'm holding everything loosely. Yet, I am planning, too. Planning for my family, planning to treasure the smallness, planning to let however few or many days I have, rest completely in the Lord's hands. Because the other side of darkness is always light for those who choose to follow It.

Blessings,