Justin: Mom, why do kids like Santa Claus so much? He is weird!

Me: I don’t know. Because they think he brings them presents?

Justin: I mean he’s really a stalker. “He sees you when you’re sleeping; he knows when you’re awake…” That’s stalking, mom!

Me: Why does my eight-year-old know what “stalking” is? I should look into that.

I see tiny flurries floating by my window and this is what I think. Maybe if put make up and ice skates on and stand really, really still, I could be a fixture inside a snow globe today instead of  cancer mom.

Maybe not.

Nicky plays handbells in the GCCS Christmas concert, and Justin receives a signed soccer ball from the GCCS varsity soccer captain. We love you guys.

The second-to-last spinal tap is over! Justin’s physical exam went well but his chemo dosages were cranked up

If all goes according to plan, Justin has 4 treatments left with an end date of March 25, 2019. He said he would like to have a big party with all his friends, featuring lots of good snacks and fun games.

Me too, baby, me too.

The week after an infusion is usually pretty rough if you can still keep us in your prayers. Thank you for continued support.

Oh, Buddy. Dogs don’t do subtraction.

Doesn’t he look good?!

Justin, I mean. He’s been happy and relatively healthy.

The Lord is near to all who call on Him, to all who call on Him in truth. He fulfills the desire of those who fear Him, he also hears their cry and saves them. Psalm 145:8-9

There’s something about your child being in a holding pattern somewhere between now and eternity. There’s something about allowing your child to be sick for three years so he can live. There’s something about having no tears left which makes you feel cold but you’re not cold you’re just used to it. There’s something about being used to it that feels very wrong. There’s something about knowing down to your guts that you have zero control.

You realize just how bare and inept you really are.

But.

You are no longer gripped by all there is in this world that is completely pointless.

Justin is  down again. We started another round of chemo Tuesday, and it usually  wreaks havoc on his body the first week or so. Just as he’s feeling better toward the end of the month, it’s time to start again.

Justin is not feeling well, but sometimes he is able to rally for something he really wants to do. We’ll see if that happens later today for the boys’ soccer games.

Justin cried last night and said he hates cancer because he had to go home while his brothers and friends went trick-or-treating. He made it a little while, but then he was too tired and in pain.

I told him to try and focus on the fact that he got to go even for a little while. Very hard for kids. Hard for me as I held him, wiped his tears and offered a chocolate.

They had to increase Justin’s chemo dosages for a white blood cell count that is too high and concerning. He is also slightly jaundiced again and will have further testing done this month to determine the cause and health of his liver.

God will carry us through as we push toward a finish line that we hope, above all hope, WILL NOT BE MOVED.

Thank you for continued support and prayer.

A thousand days from before,

I held you up against the war.

And should the end slip from sure,

I’ll hold you up a thousand more.

Clinic went really well yesterday. Justin had a relatively easy IV placement, and received his chemo in the playroom with best pal, Luke.

But Justin isn’t feeling so hot today. We are watching movies, and I’m making some of his classic chemo crave items – meatballs and banana bread.

I still haven’t come up with an appropriate way to describe our gratitude for the awesome ways God has been providing for us. But it’s kind of like that scene in “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs” when the whole town is turned into ice cream and everyone runs around cheering and diving face first into mint chocolate chip snow drifts.

It’s kind of like that. But better.

For what credit is it if, when you sin and are beaten for it, you endure? But if when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. 1 Peter 2:20-21

Justin cried his eyes out last night because another boy on his flag football team called him “fatty”.

Yes, I wanted to drop kick that kid. No, I didn’t do it.

Justin is on a boat load of steroids and drugs, which have caused weight gain.

He also eats stuff like cheezits dipped in chocolate milk.

Chemotherapy does weird things to your taste buds and causes outrageous cravings.

It’s a very unhelpful side effect, but even doctors advise, it’s a futile battle to fight during treatment.

I know cancer moms, whose child never tasted a french fry, running out to McDonald’s at 10pm. Because when your child is in severe pain and vomiting through their nose, but also screaming uncontrollably for a happy meal because all they can do is watch TV and they just saw a fast food commercial, you go get it because that’s the only thing you can fix for them.

Parents, please remind your kids how stupid and hurtful their words can be.

We have discovered a sport Justin can play, and actually make it through a whole game. Flag football. They play two 15 minutes halves. His body can handle that once a week.

It also helps that his dad is the coach. Jeff knows when Justin needs a break.

Justin is so happy to be part of a team again. He is thrilled to be involved in sports again.

And he did really well. He looked like every other kid out there. He wasn’t significantly slower or anything like that.

And, lately, Justin has been putting more effort into his school work. And not throwing nearly as many insane, steroid-induced tantrums.

So I think: maybe he is coming back to us. Maybe he is getting well.

He’s been in treatment for so, so long. Could he finally, REALLY be getting well?!

Then I think: this has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And I have jumped out of an airplane, taught in inner-city schools and birthed a ten-pound baby.

But this. This has taken up my whole being. Staying next to this child for every second of his suffering.

And it’s been thousands and thousands of seconds.

It isn’t over. We have 6 months of treatments to go. Then who knows what beyond that.

But I think maybe Justin is coming back to us. I see him coming back.

Thank you, my friends, for your continued support and encouragement. Stay with us as we begin to approach the finish line.

And, God, let it be so that we will be able to say:

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 2 Timothy 4:7