"Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind, Thy windy will to bear!" -- Emily Dickinson

November has been a month of contrasts:  From Birthday celebrations to hospital visits; from family gatherings to secluded snowy days.  Here are the highlights of the past two weeks:

Madeline's birthday play:  For her party, Madeline decided this year she wanted to produce a play in which many of her good friends would participate.  Madeline worked hard to write the script, design the set, create programs, and transform our home into a theater.  We asked her friends (and daddy) to come in costume and everyone participated in making her play a success.

The first snow:  The next day it began to snow.  And it snowed.  And it snowed. And it snowed.  Our first snow in our new house turned out to be amazing fun.  We now live at the top of a big hill, perfect for sledding!

Madeline's birthday:  Royal treatment was the theme of the day, as Madeline received breakfast in bed and a night in a downtown hotel with mom, dad and Michaela.

Thanksgiving:  We filled our home with family as we joyfully celebrated just how much we have to be thankful for this year.

Hospital stay:  The day after our Thanksgiving celebration, Michaela had to go back into the hospital for fever and low counts.  Thankfully, it was a quick 2-night stay as the doctors discovered she had a treatable sinus infection.

Kids Marathon:  The same day, Madeline and her friend Isaac participated in the Seattle kids marathon.  They each logged 25 miles on their own (with parental companionship) in the previous weeks and ran together the last 1.2 miles on the day of the race.

And now on this last day of November contrasts, I am mindful of the light in the dark, and I am reminded of the poem entitled, "November" by Emily Dickinson:  "Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind, Thy windy will to bear!"

5 Little Women

We had an amazing time together with 5 Little Women in the house when Tori, Matt, June and Jo came to visit for the weekend.  Although it was short, it was the first time we had all spent time together since both the new babies were born and since Michaela's diagnosis.  We laughed, we cried, we held each other tight.  Mostly, we just soaked up the time and wished it to go more slowly.  Here are some highlights:

with Grandma Esther

Tia Tori & Uncle Matt snuggles

Yaya & Bapa introduce the babies

Me & the big 3

Madeline's Vision

First let me apologize for letting so much time pass without updating this blog.  I have to admit that I've been stuck in the most magnificent pity party you can imagine.  This is hard.  No matter how I try to sugar coat it or praise God in the midst of it, the hard is still hard.  My daughter has cancer.  She has no hair.  She has a feeding tube in her nose.  She moans and cries because her body hurts in ways she can't explain.  On the good days it is hard.  On the bad days it is beyond hard.  Over the past two months we have been in-patient in the hospital twice, been through two CT scans to check a strange growth on her lungs, explored countless changes to medication schedules and feeding schedules, endured the heartbreak of friends who are walking harder roads than we are, and the list goes on and on.  So please forgive me for my silence and witness my climb out of self-pity and into the light of hope again.  For there is so very much to be hopeful about. 

As I washed the dinner dishes tonight, girls in bed and asleep early for a change, I reflected on why I have been so focused on the hard.  Exhaustion, complacency, lethargy all contribute.  Mostly I haven't felt God in this with me for a while now.  What a ridiculous thing on which to ascribe this despondency.  My God, the very one who brings light to the world, hope to the hopeless and power to the powerless is not shining it brightly enough for me, apparently.  Then a funny thing happened.  Madeline wandered into the kitchen, bleary eyed and half asleep.  "Mom," she said, "I just saw the most amazing angels."

Before I go on, I need to say a few words about Madeline.  She has been, for lack of a better word, a trouper this year.  She has lost all sense of normalcy, given up countless hours of time with her parents and sister, watched her best friend in the world fight leukemia and all the horrible effects that come with it, and she has handled herself through this year with an incredible understanding far beyond her years.  She is also our highly sensitive child, who since the age of two has seen things spiritually that seriously blow us away.  When Madeline walks into a room and says that she's seen angels I immediately get goosebumps and have to sit down.


Her face is sleepy and glowing with a peace that passes understanding.  I draw her close and ask her what she saw.  "Mom, there were the most beautiful angels in our house.  They started in Michaela's room and they hovered above her bed holding baskets of fruit.  They poured the fruit over her and her hair started to grow back.  Her feeding tube started to disappear.  She had color in her cheeks again!  Then they went through the rest of the house with their fruit, and finally ended up in my room.  They emptied the fruit over me and I tasted it, mom!  It tasted better than anything I've ever tasted ... kind of a weird cross between peaches and red peppers.  It was so good!"  She snuggled into my arms and I looked at Jon.  We both had tears in our eyes.  

I have to say that I don't have a clue what this means for Madeline.  I'm sure she was in need of some encouragement tonight or there was some personal reason God wanted to bless her with this prophetic word.  I do know what it means for me, though.  Only a God who is deeply invested in relationship would choose our dreaming 7-year-old girl to give a vision of hope to this weary mom.  He firmly told me tonight that He is here in the midst of the hard.  The weight lifting from my shoulders is liberating.  As I kissed Madeline goodnight I turned into the light of the kitchen and felt free to believe that it will all be okay.  I've been showered by angels tonight and I've been told that the taste is fabulous.