I wish I could pen an eloquent post, something thought-provoking and inspirational. I’ve started thirteen different drafts with thirteen different topics. I even downloaded some cool visual aids.
But every time I try to finish this blog, my fingers freeze on the keys and all the energy I thought I had to put into some life-changing revelation drains away.
I wanted to write a beautiful story of the way my family has bonded and pulled together over Kyle’s fight with cancer.
I wanted to say I’m a servant, a martyr, willing to do anything and everything for my son with an attitude of grace.
I wanted to say Kyle is quietly strong and humbled by what God is doing in his life.
I wanted to say Alek has shed the role of selfish, teenage boy and strapped on his superhero brother cape and that my boys spend time together cementing a relationship that can never be broken.
I wanted to say even though I can’t be there 24/7 for Maddy, she trusts in my love and feels secure in our family and believes God will heal Kyle.
I wanted to say Pat and I have rallied as partners and parents.
But I can’t, because those things are only my secret fantasies.
So here’s the truth. Cancer destroys — cells, bodies, lives, relationships, families.
I do love my son. But I’m not a martyr. I have no grace. I’m a lousy servant. I get tired and angry and let my emotions explode all over the place.
Kyle is quietly strong, but there’s nothing quiet about his anger. Alek has stepped up in many ways, but he’d rather escape our new life than settle into it and he’s gone more than he’s home. Maddy cries. A lot. Especially on Wednesday mornings. Clinic mornings. She’s afraid to go to school because she thinks Kyle will die and she won’t be here and it will be her fault. Pat and I argue about stupid things, like cookie sheets left unwashed on the counter and laundry left to get moldy in the washer.
I wish I could say because we’re Christians, things in our house are different. I wish I could say we’ve risen to the task set before us and that we don’t doubt or cry or fight or wonder if God is even here.
But I can’t.
I can say this — what gets me through the hard days, and there are a lot of hard days, is knowing that God doesn’t deal in wishes or wants or fantasies.
God deals in promises. Promises that my feelings and my fears and my disbelief can’t change.
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. —Romans 8:28, NIV
“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.” —Jeremiah 29:11
I claim these promises for my family. I believe God wants us not only to survive Kyle’s cancer, but to thrive, to come out on the other end as better, stronger, more compassionate people. I believe He means for our family to grow closer together. I believe He wants to use our dark moments for His good.
I don’t have the first clue how that can even happen, but I do know that God is the only one who can take something terrible and tragic and create something amazing and beautiful.
I’ve seen it before. The first time Kyle conquered cancer. And the work God’s done in the past is what I’m holding onto for our future.