Gracefully Frank

After a very long week...the week is over. Dad ended up spending a couple of days in the hospital as they cared for him through chemo reactions. His blood pressure continues to be very low, and he has had a lingering infection they are throwing several different antibiotics at. He has probably felt the worst he has ever felt this week. But on Friday morning they met with Dr. Waheed and her words were "the Myeloma is coming down very nicely. Excellent response." Breathe in. Breathe out. Praise the Lord for this report. The chemo is making him more sick as it heals what is attacking him. This pain is bringing him healing. It feels awkward to be thankful for that, but it is his long term healing we pray for.

I've had several conversations about this very thing lately. About having to fight hard battles to be set free from the chains that bind us, and how it can be a humbling painful experience... A close friend is coming through a struggle with addiction. The pain and hurt he is going through right now is bringing him healing. Doesn't make it easier, but makes it worth it. I am thankful for the pain of his sobriety that is moving him toward new life, over the pain of his addiction that was destroying him. I don't know if my friend is thankful for that everyday yet, but he is getting there one day at a time. Other friends are struggling through reprioritizing their lives. It has been a painful, humbling process for them to put God first in their lives and family as they understand more and more who they are in Him, and how the things of this world are temporary. It's hard to fight our nature, but it's worth it. For me, leaving my first life of trying to accomplish things all on my own was a painful experience. God had to take my strongholds and break them. My identity in my accomplishments and career, my pride. I could have denied it, avoided the pain and stayed right where I was, but when we call out to Him He moves on our behalf. He had to take me away from where I was not because of the place I was, but because of me in the place I was. I had many idols that I put above God, and that is not what I had promised Him in my youth when I first came to know Him as my Savior. My life felt empty no matter how much I tried to make it mean something. It was never going to satisfy me, because He had other plans for me. As soon as He heard me call out to Him after years of really only griping at Him, He guided me in the direction He had for me even though it was painful. Toward healing. Toward new life. Fresh air. Breath. Intimacy with Him. Peace. I would not go back to before the battle.

Whether its cancer, addiction, or pride fighting the battle brings us the healing God has for us. I'm so thankful my Dad and my Mom have the courage to fight. I'm so thankful as my friend celebrates 90 days of sobriety today, and I pray God continues to help him wage war. I'm so thankful as God gently breaks strongholds in my friends' lives that they continue to have the courage to step through the fog He is lifting. I'm so thankful that even when my heart deceives me, even when the enemy attacks me, God sends me gentle reminders of His love and purpose for my life and gives me the courage to trust Him with my moments, my days and my future.

This week Dad's battle has him wearing a mask anytime he is in public, getting his blood pressure regulated, and looking to the end of the week to possibly have his first bone marrow collection. After they collect it, the marrow will be treated for 4-6 weeks, then he will have the bone marrow transplant. The week after collection dad will meet with the neurosurgeon to determine the best course of action to address his C2 vertebra. We are uncertain of what tomorrow holds, but certain of Who holds tomorrow...to borrow a line I have no idea how to cite for credit. He will begin to lose his hair in the coming couple of weeks so I'm going to start hat shopping.

Our prayers are for mom and dad's comfort and rest, for the medicine to continue successfully fighting the myeloma, for the side effects to be few and mild, and for him to be protected from infection. He is getting blood transfusions and platelet transfusions. Mom and Dad are so grateful to be at UAMS where they have two appointments a day at the clinic to receive medicine and do blood work. I told Dad it has been a long time since he was in two-a-days. He said he's trying to get back up to his playing weight, but thinks he can do it. :) Two-A-Days are hard, but worth it.

Thank you all for praying for his continued healing.

I'm on the train again. I've shown you the pictures before. It's the same tonight. I still kind of love it. I'm on my way to Oklahoma City to see my oldest niece Jordan perform in her school play.

I have two beautiful awesome nieces Jordan and Kaitlyn (Jordi and Birdie) and one amazing nephew (Shawn Michael). They are all three great kids and I could write about their talents and personalities and how much I love them, but also really really like them... But, Jordi is in this spotlight tonight because I'm travelling to see her in a literal spotlight, its her Senior year, and some of my friends will remember parts of her story. It's good to remember her story.

Jordan was born Christmas day of my senior year, and now she is a senior. (that part makes me puke) She came into this world in dramatic fashion. We tend to laugh a lot when all of our family is together. On Christmas Eve 1993, after some singing around the piano and laughing till we cried, my sister-in-law began the process of going into labor nearly 3 hours away from their doctor and hospital. Leigh is never one to make a fuss...so she just kind of quietly began keeping track of what was going on and by the wee hours of the morning I, who was asleep on a pallet consisting of a sheet and a Mamie quilt in front of the front door with cousins asleep in various spots on the floor around me, woke up to my brother and Leigh stepping over me to walk out the door. I somehow faded back into sleep, until maybe just 30 minutes later my parents were stepping over me, telling me to go ahead and sleep but they were following Chris and Leigh to Edmond because Leigh was in labor. "Ok. I'll go back to sleep. You guys drive safe." That's not at all what I said. They left though. And not too far behind them my cousin Riann and I were on the same road. And not too far behind us were the rest of our crew with Christmas dinner in ice chests heading to the Edmond hospital. They brought baby Jordan out in a Christmas stocking later that evening. Still one of my favorite days in all my days.

Jordan has not lost dramatic steam since that first day. She is enthusiastic, and inspires that in others. She's just fun to be around and play with. She dives into whatever she is into. Art, soccer, youth group, AP Euro. I went to Arizona to stay with the kids one time while Chris and Leigh were going out of town. Jordi was in early elementary school. She liked Happy Days. So she would set her alarm early and get herself ready so she could watch it before going to school. I would get out of bed and find her sitting in the dark, totally ready for school, backpack on, watching Fonzie. Kind of freaked me out a little. She's just totally herself. Unaffected. Good head on her shoulders. Does what she wants. I admire her.

At 1, she moved to Oregon. At about 3, she was doing Elvis impersonations and ballet class. At 4, she became a big sister for the first time and then moved from Oregon to Arizona. She sang songs in foreign languages, didn't take no for an answer, and would end long distance phone calls with "call me tomorrow!" She liked talking on the phone. At 5, she was the flower girl at our cousin Jennifer's wedding and and the following week she was diagnosed with leukemia. The world stopped, and changed forever. Long story short: She's a senior this year in her school play. When she was going through cancer she would tell you she had the "geeky leukemia." When she lost all her hair one of the first hats she wore out in public was a witch's hat from Halloween. Then she wore a pink headband on her precious little bald head until all of her hair grew back. She told her cousin Ian when he spent the night "I'm taking my headband off, and I don't have any hair." Ian said, "I know." She thought her puffy cheeks and belly from the medicine were funny. As a little artist, one time after coming home from the hospital she drew a picture of herself in her hospital bed. She drew a man standing by her bed. "Who is that Jordan?" "That was Jesus" she said. 5 year olds get to see what we sometimes can't.

I got to take Jordan's Senior pictures a few weeks ago. Here are a few of my favorites:















So tomorrow night we will watch her perform in her play. She will undoubtedly be the best one up there, just ask any of us. :) Play hard. Ride the train. Love the people you love with all your guts, till you're worn out. Be enthusiastic. Jordan Sierra Scully. Things I'm thinking about tonight.

Here is another of my favorite pictures of Jordi. She was in her hospital bed at age 5. Pink headband, bald head, princess pillow, all her toys and enthusiasm. If you look close you might be able to see Him. He was there. She drew His picture.

Apparently if you try to go through airport security crying your eyes out, you will be considered a person of interest to the homeland security guards on duty. The Lord supernaturally empowered me with the strength to walk away from mom and dad at the Little Rock National Airport Sunday evening. It's not that I believe I have to be there for things to be ok...it's more like climbing up out of the trench and waving goodbye, when you would rather be in the trench with them fighting with them, next to them. But, I climbed up. I think the man who checked my baggage and had to tell me more than twice where to take it probably walkie-talkied ahead that I was on my way. As I walked closer to the check point a guard motioned to me and said “Miss, could you step over here.” You’ve been randomly chosen for further screening.” Randomly huh? I was still crying. She asked if I had the “sniffles.” I said “no, I’m crying.” She asked for my ID which was stuck in my wallet refusing to slide out of its little plastic slot. After a few minutes of watching me try to get it out embarrassed and apologizing…one of the three guards surrounding me took my wallet to try and get it out himself. No luck. So they emptied my wallet which included Ethiopian currency that seemed to confuse them. Looking more suspicious by the minute, “You been to Ethiopia lately?” one of them asked. “Yes," I answered still crying. Then I was informed they would be doing a residue test with swabs on my hands. I was hoping I did not inadvertently have bomb making residue on my hands. What household ingredients can make a bomb? Had I been into any of that this morning? It probably didn’t help that I still had my sunglasses on to try and hide a little bit that I was crying. Between the aviators, the crying, the foreign currency…I figured I was about one outburst away from a night in a Little Rock prison. (Hold steady Haley. Dry it up, or they might give me something to cry about.) I had no residue though and turns out neither crying nor wearing sunglasses indoors is against the law so they let me go on my own recognizance. Next stop…take off my shoes, and getting stopped by the guard who would thoroughly dig through both of my carry-on bags. She handled everything then pulled my toothpaste out, shot me a look, and told me to throw it away. I guess this might be a good time to admit to my roommate that I’ve been using her toothpaste these past few days. Thanks Jackie.

I finally made it passed all check points; called my brother; called my Riann. They settled me down. I decided it was unfair for the person stuck next to me on the plane to have their day affected by some weird lady with sunglasses on crying next to them in a confined space. Let’s call him Joe… a father of 3, grandpa of 2, brother of 1 sister whom he helped move to Arkansas on Saturday, and husband to 1 good woman who is a bible-study leader and brings him special breakfast on Friday mornings. Joe never suspected a thing behind my sunglasses. Though it is kind of weird that he didn’t think it was kind of weird that I was wearing sunglasses in the plane. Thankfully, I liked listening to Joe talk, and Joe enjoyed talking. He persevered passed my face being turned toward my book until I finally just closed my book and turned toward him. Joe wishes his youngest daughter would kind of get her life together, but his older two kids are doing pretty well. He gets to work on time every morning. That’s just how he was raised. He doesn’t understand young people today. He could not believe he forgot to take his fishing pole to Arkansas, and slept better last night than he has in months because of the cool Little Rock temperature. It was raining as we were entering our final dissent into DFW. Joe pointed out the view behind me out my window seat 24A. Here is what I saw...























Majesty.

Two Lady Birds picked me up from the airport. Then I drove back to Carrollton in pouring rain, left my luggage in the car and went to bed. Right now is a time when there is only one set of footprints in the sand.

Mom and Dad will be in Little Rock for at least a month. Dad is wearing a neck brace 24/7 due to potential instability in his neck near his spinal cord. They will meet with the neurosurgeon tomorrow to discuss what needs to be done there. Then they will meet with Dr. Waheed on Thursday and hopefully get started on chemo.

Thank you still for your prayers. It seems like a book of stamps is harder and harder to come by lately…but if you might feel so inclined to send them a card or note while they are away from home those are always welcome. It is amazing how that gesture, even from people they don’t know, can be such an encouraging reminder that they are being prayed for and not alone through this.


Towne Place Suites Little Rock
Attn: Tim and Glenda Scully, Rm 302
12 Crossings Ct
Little Rock, AR 72205

Yesterday wasn't a very enjoyable day. We were anxious, tired and a little overwhelmed. But, today in Little Rock things just seem to be better. Grace. I'm sitting cross legged and sideways in a booth next to my mom. She has her little reading glasses on and every once a while mouths the words she is reading from a book called A Bend In The Road by David Jeremiah detailing his battle with cancer. She is pretty amazing. She has not been telling me how to drive at all. Her mind is elsewhere and I think she is just trusting me with the wheel. I find it strangely unsettling that she's not directing my driving, like the time she told me to take my keys out of the ignition before I got out of the car (she thinks out loud). Be careful what you wish for friends. I'm pausing from writing right now because she wants to read me something from that book that is making her cry good tears...she can read me whatever she wants, whenever she wants.

We are sitting in a lovely section of the cancer institute called The Gathering Place. The Starbucks and gift shop located here closed about an hour ago and the majority of lights have been dimmed. A little old man whom I passed several times walking around yesterday in a Dr.'s coat is now dressed in plain clothes and playing the Steinway Grand piano across the aisle from where we sit. He may have escaped from the psych ward, but he's cute and I like the song he's playing... It's just me, mom and him in here right now. My Dad is behind some big doors where some young person in scrubs walked him away from us to have a series of MRIs done. Do they even realize who they were getting to walk beside? He's got on a new shirt and new slacks a couple of sizes smaller than normal. He's wearing dress shoes. Daddy has always been a sharp dresser. I took a picture of him and sent it to Chris so he could see how our Dad dressed his best even when he feels his worst. Chris texted back "Chemo can't take your cool." Daddy is cool. He has his hot buttons like everyone else, but he doesn't get too ruffled about things, at least not that anyone but mom would ever get to see. He's totally relying on the Lord, that is where he draws his strength. Every morning he reads a devotion to us and we pray together. He is a quiet testimony to a life anchored in faith, head up, taking care of business.






Tomorrow morning we will find out the results from the tests he has been through this week. They do gene mapping here at UAMS, and can determine if dad is a high risk or low risk multiple myeloma patient. I will not pretend to understand how that works. However, those results will aid in developing his treatment plan and will help the doctors determine if they should start chemo immediately, or allow mom and dad to return home and come back soon to begin treatment. Dad has gone two weeks now without chemotherapy to combat the cancer in his body. We want him to start receiving the healing medicine sooner rather than later. We spent part of yesterday and today finding a long term stay option for them, and this morning found a great place that both of them are happy with. Mom said she is not just pleased, she is thrilled. Me too then.

So tomorrow we will check out of our hotel, meet with Dr. Waheed and then either head toward Ponca City, or out to Town Place Suites where breakfast is included everyday, the beds are very comfortable, we like how it is decorated and there is no funny smell. For those of you who know my momma, you know that smells are important considerations. If you have to be away from home, and you have to be recovering from intense chemotherapy, or you have to help your spouse through that...its a great place. If chemo is to begin right away, and mom and dad do stay here in Little Rock, that will mean I will book a flight to Dallas for Sunday. I need that flight to still be open by the time I'm able to book it tomorrow. I've got a Lady Bird lined up to pick me up at DFW and take me to my car that is hopefully still sitting at the train station in downtown Fort Worth. Somehow I will get on the plane and leave my parents here to fight cancer. Thankfully, they are fighters. Thankfully they have a God who loves them more than me and makes a way for them. It is my faith in God's Presence and work in their lives that helps me to fly away from them...but that doesn't mean I won't ugly cry again. Pretty sure I will.

Please keep Dad and Mom in your prayers. God knows their names, but in case you don't...his name is Tim and her name is Glenda.

There is a technique in counseling called "normalizing." Since this is not an academic blog, subject to peer review, I will just say normalizing is helping the client who is in crisis feel more normal. In crisis we may feel alone, misunderstood, hopeless, like we are spiraling. Normalizing reminds us this terrain has been tread before, and the reactions we are having to this crisis are reasonable (as long as they truly are reasonable). It can help someone who is totally untethered to hope feel more anchored in the midst of their circumstance. Although their situation is unique to them, and normalizing doesn't solve their problem, it can help the spiral to slow down long enough to get their bearings.

This technique can be really helpful to allow people to feel what they are feeling, and possibly introduce a new perspective. But here is where normalizing kind of has an opposite affect: Cancer. Normalizing with a family, or at least for my family, has turned out to not be helpful under our current diagnosis. All cancers are different; all treatments are different. There doesn't seem to be a way to normalize cancer. Here is the story of a recent conversation. The main characters are me and “Friend:”

Friend: “I’ve been wanting to ask how your dad is doing.”

Me: (being caught in one of those moments where tears win over trying to stay cool) “Well, we had a wonderful weekend. My brother and family, and two of my uncles were with us on Saturday, and we had a great day together. He looked the best I’ve seen him since this started.”

Friend: (Hugging me as I tried to dry it up) “I am praying for your Dad, and for you. I know what a difficult time this is.”

Friend is a wonderful caring person. It would have been great if our time together had stopped there. She absolutely showed love and care, and that is what I needed. However, out of Friend’s kind heart she wanted to encourage me more, she was about to try and normalize my experience by sharing hers. I know for a fact, as a devotee to normalization I have done this many times to others in an effort to make them feel not alone, or give a word of encouragement. “Well I know this story of so and so who had cancer and they are alive.” Not that bluntly stated, but some version of that. I’m sorry if I have ever tried to normalize you as you faced cancer with your family. I won't do that anymore. I’ll come sit and cry with you, and pray for you, but I won’t ask you to think further ahead than the moment we are in, or outside of God’s hand in your details. Friend’s concern for me and for dad was a great blessing, but her own cancer story, right now, was not. That is a very important distinction. Friend meant no offense. I took no offense. In no way do I think Friend is inconsiderate, or uncaring. She was sharing with me out of love. But I can't keep listening to stories that send me to my desk in tears; Mom and Dad can't listen to stories anymore either. I don’t speak/write for Chris…but go easy on him, too. I will, and mom will, gently redirect conversations going forward. We are in the throes of it right now and need to stay focused on what God is doing in Dad's life. God is giving us the strength to get through this, but our hearts aren't strong enough to compare and contrast with other cancer patients; which is the inevitable result of hearing other stories at this time. Friend really does have a good story of how God was faithful to her and carried her through the biggest heartbreak in her life. But her story makes me unable to breathe, and I really need to be able to breathe right now. It is not the time for me to identify with the point of her story. The point she was hoping to make was unfortunately not the echo that I walked away with.

I hope this comes across gracefully frank. It may sound kind of bossy, (if so, that is the first time I have ever been accused of that), to ask that you not tell us other cancer stories, and yet still covet your prayers, still desire to hear you are praying for us, or talk with you about how Dad is doing, or just talk with you about anything else; but this is the nature of where we are, we have to ask especially for Dad’s sake. If you read this blog that I love writing and find so much joy in, then you hopefully know us well enough to understand our hearts on this. The exceptions are our loved ones going through cancer and illness right now too. My namesake, who is the “Lougene” of Haley Lougene, is battling cancer right now too. We’ve been praying for her for months, and love hearing what God is doing in her life. We are not shutting down and out of the lives or trials of our loved ones. It is a blessing to pray with and for them, but we are just not accepting any additional tales of cancer beyond our own garden at this time.

So my hope is if you are in our support group please don’t stop checking on us! I love the texts I get, and e-mails from friends. Mom and Dad love the homemade jam, the borrowed movie collections, the lawn mowing, the phone calls, the smoked brisketJ, the cards, the baskets of treats, and the visits. These things have encouraged them so much. Daddy has been especially touched by all of the kindness he has been shown. These acts and words of kindness show them you care. We are unspeakably grateful for such amazing family and friends. I’m especially grateful for the women who have come around my mom to support her as she cares for Daddy. (What is this leaking from my eyes?) I would like mom to put a note on their door that says "Cancer is not discussed here, but feel free to talk Religion or Politics." Get it? I don't know if she'll do it though…she sees my bossy coming a mile away, and doesn’t always mind me.

Dad has completed 8 rounds of chemotherapy. He has this week off. He has begun to gain a little weight back, as mom is the Paula Dean of Kay County. Although she normally tries to cook healthy, her man needed to put on some weight so the gloves have come off. Whatever Daddy wants... He is scheduled for at least a few more weeks of chemo, as we are still working to put the cancer in remission. Dad will not lose his hair, he reports his back pain is better, and he isn't having the reactions to the chemo he first had. We look forward to being in remission, and scheduling the bone marrow transplant soon. He doesn't have a lot of energy, but he is up and at 'em everyday. Sometimes, when life is making me tired, Dad sings me this little song: “Oh you gotta get up and at ‘em everyday. Expect that you’ll get knocked down on the way…something something something…don’t be bitter or a quitter….oh you gotta get up and at ‘em everyday.” I never can remember all the words to that song.

Psalm 61

Today I woke up crying. Music made me cry. Friends checking on me made me cry. The freckles on my face that I get from daddy made me cry. Today, I was a mess. Today, nothing had changed since yesterday. I still believed everything God has strengthened and encouraged me with, but I was ridiculously sad. Today was one of those days where I was best left alone, but sad to be alone. Today, I was just sad. Head to toe. Fingertip to fingertip. Along with all God is helping me understand in all of this, is the reality that my dad is hurting. My mom is hurting. I’m not irrational in this sadness. It is totally sane to be sad about what I’m sad about; and I am just sad about it. Always, and especially these past couple of weeks, God has been so good to uphold me through prayers and His peace; I just think today his goodness came to me through the release of tears that had been welling up for days and days and days. The well is about empty now. I had been sneak crying at my desk, and out and out crying when I could step away, trying to discreetly reapply make-up…I cried and cried to the point where it kind of started to make me laugh. May as well.

I wish I was one of those adorable little embroidered handkerchief criers who look lovely in a sundress sitting on a park bench with the sun reflecting off the highlights in my hair as silent tears gently glisten down my soft cheek and the string section sets my sorrow to music. I am not. Once I get to crying I’m a lips swollen, eyes puffy, mascara running, pitching a fit kind of crier. Remember the scene in Hope Floats where Birdie cries when her jerk dad leaves? I'm that kind of crier. Today would not be a good day for me to watch Hope Floats. I probably wouldn't make it. I googled "ugly cry face." And besides a lot of pictures of James Vanderbeek, this picture came up: 






That's about right. This picture was on other blogs. I guess if it is copywrited and they see it here I will pay for it. She’s just mad and sad, and the only way to let it out is to cry it out; hair a mess, exposed. I’m sure she was tired too. There is a picture of my niece that puts this little girl to shame. I wish I had it.

I think back to some of my past cries. The ones where as a child when I didn’t get something I wanted and decided to throw a crying fit. I would get the finger-snap-point and hear "Haley Lougene you dry it up this minute, or I’ll give you something to cry about." I usually got it dried up pretty quickly. My parents weren’t big corporal punishment people, but it’s safe to say I got my share of quick spankings enough that they had their bluff in. Dad asked me one time after I got in trouble for breaking something if I was crying because I had broken it and felt bad, or if I was crying because I got caught and was in trouble. I remember being aggravated that he asked me that; of course because I got caught, or else I would have been crying when I broke it instead of trying to hide it. It seemed like crossing a boundary to make me admit my tears were selfish. Shouldn’t he just melt at seeing "baby-girl" cry, and then take me for a sno cone? I was crying out of fear and manipulation, not out of sorrow. Daddy knew the difference, and he called me on it.

Crying out of sorrow is ok. Even Paul talks about how if he had lost Epaphroditus, whom he loved, he would have had "sorrow upon sorrow." Philippians 2:27. There is real comfort in knowing that our Creator designed us to cry to help release what is hurting, and he doesn’t count our tears or sorrow as faithlessness. "You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have stored them in your book," Psalms 56:8. When something is sad we cry, and He is with us. But then, to borrow a line from a friend’s sweet grandma "you can get glad in the same pants you got mad in." We don’t have to live in sorrow. We lift our eyes to the hills, and live in the joy of knowing how the story ends. There will be a day with no more tears. Dad's pain is better than it was, his treatments are started, and they are finally home. I talked to them both on the phone today. I won't take that for granted. Today I had a moment of sad settle in on me a bit. Tomorrow should look better. Apparently, I will probably let you know one way or the other.

Have I mentioned I went to Ethiopia and my Dad is sick? Well I did, and he is. It feels like about 3 weeks ago the pause button on life got pushed, and I have been in some other reality. However, it is getting to be time to press play and rejoin regularly scheduled programming.

My watch just got wound back to central standard time. That is where it belongs. I know God allowed me to go to Ethiopia for a reason, but I don't have to know what that reason is. It was a wonderful and perspective changing experience. Even though a lot of what I saw there was difficult to grasp the trip itself was amazing. I miss them. I would love to go back someday. But I got a fortune cookie this week that said "The pleasure of what we enjoy is lost by wanting more." That makes sense, so central standard time it is.

I tried to go back to work on Wednesday. Actually I did go back to work on Wednesday, but I wasn't really there yet, my thoughts were all wrapped up in Ethiopia and Room 406, Mercy Hospital, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. I was able to do the tasks at hand. I saw a few clients which was the best part of being there, and got to catch a few friends up on the whirlwind of the last couple of weeks. I was still kind of running on auto-pilot though. Still running in mud.

Dad has been in the hospital for 14 days now. As he puts it, he's taken a few steps forward, and a few steps back. Thursday night was a step back as he was sick most of the night. Mom called me Friday morning for my update...and by noon I was on the road headed back to where my heart was. This morning the report is looking good. He has had two rounds of chemo now. The fight has begun. He is over the sick feeling he had, he ate nearly all of the low low priced Mercy Hospital oatmeal I fixed for him, and has just had a shower. He would be so totally annoyed if he knew I just shared that. He would say "nobody cares that I ate oatmeal and just got out of the shower." He can write his own blog.

He has a back brace and a pretty blond he's known since the 2nd grade that are ready to get him through these next few months. He had a couple of transfusions this week fighting the anemia, so once we can get him out of that bed and back to North Fourteenth Street, Ponca City, OK I think he will be ready to start getting on down this road. I am pretty sure regularly scheduled programming is not going to play out as we had anticipated, but that's alright. We have to live as though we believe what we say we believe:

"For this [gospel] I was appointed a herald, apostle, and teacher, and that is why I suffer these things. But I am not ashamed, because I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to guard what has been entrusted to me until that day." 2 Timothy 1:11 Man I love how the Word of God has everything we need for every circumstance we face.

I commit my Dad. I commit my time in Ethiopia. I commit the work of my hands and the meditations of my heart to the Lord. I commit to not live in fear of what tomorrow holds, because I know who holds tomorrow. I don't surrender just for the peace I find there, but because He is God, this life is a blink of an eye, our home is ultimately with him, and He is faithful. Because of his grace and his love I can put one foot in front of the other and pray that he allows me to be a reflection of His grace that is pleasing to him. Because of him I don't chase after the wind. Because of him I'm ready to press play...

After over 24 hours of travelling, I am home. I sit in the hospital as I type this. This is where I've sat since about 30 minutes after landing Saturday afternoon. A friend I've known since the 7th grade picked me up from the airport and brought me to the hospital. My Dad is currently on the phone with one of his best friends since Elementary school. I love old friends.

Flashbacks of this past week keep running through my mind. Did this really just happen? As I come out of the fog I find evidence that this wasn't and isn't a dream...

Evidence of Ethiopia:

- My watch is 8 hours ahead of all the clocks I see around me. I'm not ready to conform yet. I like considering where all of those precious-in-His-sight kids are in their daily schedule. I like wondering if today's rain is falling in Addis Ababa. I like remembering the taste of the coffee, the voices of friends, and the sights as we walked the streets of Addis Ababa. Keeping my watch to that time takes me back there.

At Kaldi's.

Daily Schedule at Orphanage

Beautiful gate we passed on a walk.

- There is a flower in my bible being pressed, waiting to become a laminated bookmark I will have forever.

- I had packed clothes for temperatures in the 60's to low 70's and its 109 degrees outside. I'm a little overdressed, but it is cold in hospitals.

- People keep welcoming me back home. (I know I wasn't here, but I never felt not at home.)


Evidence of Cancer:

- My dad is lying in a hospital bed. His comfort is growing. His pain is lessening, but he continues to hurt. Our resolve is strengthening as we wait on the Lord.

- With biopsy results in as of this morning, the evidence confirms multiple myeloma.

- I have been racing to hospital elevators to get to push the buttons. If cancer wasn't here, I wouldn't be in a hospital, and I wouldn't be racing. I like to think that I would be more mature than to push my 10 yr old nephew out of the way so I could be the button pusher. I'm not. I guess I get it from mom as she surprised me with a sneaky elevator-button-pushing win this morning as we came in. She won't surprise me again.

- It's Monday, and I'm not at work. I love my job, and love the people I work with. They made special arrangements allowing me to go to Ethiopia, and they made special arrangements allowing me today and tomorrow off to be here in Oklahoma. I'm so thankful to work with this ministry. I wish the address was somewhere on Broadway Extension, but as with everything else, I trust the Lord and where he has me. I pray he gives me the strength and grace to get back into my work there and allow Him to be Him, and me to be only me.

- Mercy hospital has low low prices on their cafeteria menu. I never wanted to know about the menu offerings at Mercy hospital. This useless knowledge is evidence that something has gone wrong. However, the sweet potato fries are pretty good.


Evidence of God's grace:

- My dad's smile and humor. My mom's grace and peace. Dad is back to sass mouthing mom. That's a good sign. But then, when he asked her for a cookie, she said "Where would you like it, Precious?" They are cute. After 43 years of marriage they have each other's number.

- Prayers from friends and family.

- Jesus. Jesus. Jesus who took the sting out of death, who's perfect love casts out fear, and who intercedes on our behalf. Where would I be right now, if my hope were in anything other than Him? "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need." Hebrews 4:15-16

We are in the air again. This time going the opposite direction. I'm in between the world I used to know, where Daddy wasn't sick and I didn't have one memory from Addis Ababa; and the world where I will soon land where my Dad does have cancer and Addis Ababa is forever a part of me. The whole world has changed in a weeks time. God is still on His throne, and I am on my knees. I physically felt the prayers people were saying for me while I was away from my family last week. Each of your messages and notes meant so much to me, and felt like a life-line to home. There is no other explanation but prayer and God's grace for me getting out of bed and not only carrying on, but carrying on feeling merciful hope and even joy. I still can hardly believe this is happening, but astonishment doesn't equal devastation when you know the Lord. There truly is a peace that passes understanding that he gives us. I know who holds the future, and when before I may not have trusted that and tried to orchestrate some things myself, his faithfulness to me these past several years as I finally sought him first in all things has settled it firmly in my heart and my mind come what may. He is God, Creator, Redeemer, Savior, Lover of my Soul, Healer. And although He holds the universe in His hand, He wants me to pray to him and share with him my heart. My whole heart is to take away Dad's pain, heal him, let me hold his hand for many more years. The end, Amen. I am nervous to see him in the hospital. I know I will hold it together in front of him...but I may need to find someone to punch in the face after I leave. I've never really punched anyone in the face, but for some reason I think that would relieve some tension. Does anyone have a Weezah I could hit? I come from a line of Steel Magnolias.

As we fly over the Maritime Alps below, it should be mentioned that The Best of Van Morrison is a great album. Also, we landed in Rome last night to refuel. We weren't allowed to get off the plane, but I'm counting it. I've been to Rome.

On my hand right now in 8 year old English-as-a-second-language handwriting are the words "Jesus You Love." Yoseph wrote this on my hand as we told the kids goodbye earlier today, or yesterday, I don't know for sure what day it is anymore. I have carefully washed around it. I had thought before what a blessing these kids were getting with Ryan and Jessica; I knew Ryan and Jess would be blessed by the kids too, but I just can't describe how beautiful and special these kids are. They gush love. They are tender and thoughtful. They can work an ipod probably as well as Ryan, as the orphanages get a lot of mission team visits, and they pick things up fast. They are just flat out fun. They are 4 little people anyone would want to spend their everyday with. We had opportunity to take the kids to the guest house we were staying for a few hours to play. Here is the shirt 4 year old Eyasu, or as I like to call him "Bubble Gum" was wearing:




He already has. Their kids had best friends, Rich and Betty, who were with us the entire time while we were visiting at the orphanage. I could see at times on their faces a little concern seeing their friends meet their new "momma" so the three of us called ourselves the "friends" and had our picture taken together. Rich drew me a picture that says he loves me and so does Jesus. I was just waiting for God to say the word for me to bring him home as my son, but nothing yet...but I would.

Staying at the guesthouse was such a great experience. There were other families that came throughout the week to pick up their kids and bring them home. 7 year old Hannah and her new Daddy are travelling home to meet the rest of her new family after spending the last five years in an Ethiopian orphanage. They sit in front of me in row 39 as I type this from row 40 window seat A. She is playing on his i-pad, and every once and a while peeks back through the crack between the seats and shoots me a smile, or takes my picture with her new DS. Oh my word I love her. So does her new daddy whose hand she rarely lets go of. I know the feeling Hannah.

The guesthouse is also where I met someone who made this week lovely in more ways than one. It is surprising to meet someone and within a very short period of time get to a point where you will miss them. It is for me anyway. But, as I leave Addis Ababa even after this short period of time, there is someone more than just the kids I will miss. I'm an over thinker, and I process my way right out of things at times. But not him, not this week. Not mentioning him would be leaving out an important part of this complex story which has played out over long-distance phone calls, before my eyes, and in my heart these last few days. Don't ask me about him though. It's the Glenda in me that inspires me to write and share, it's the Tim in me that leads me to keep things quite a bit more private. I hope I have struck a good balance.

What a lovely, heart breaking 6 days in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. I'm not sure I recognize myself anymore. I think I'm still me though, and I pray God will make me more of who He wants me to be through all of this. Thanks again for your prayers...I'm almost home.

1) I can finish bathing in an unfamiliar shower in total darkeness when the electricity goes out, even when common sense says this is when the nightmare is supposed to begin.

2) I speak Spanish to all people who speak any language other than English.

3) There appears to be very few traffic laws here. This sometimes causes sudden stops or slamming on breaks. I found out I can survive being thrown into the van floorboard after one of these break slamming incidents.



4) I learned I am not nearly grateful enough. If grateful were an ocean, I would be less than 1/4 a teaspoon of it. It bears repeating, because I need to understand: I am not nearly grateful enough. I have not known alternatives to the blessings I've recieved, and not been able to grasp my reality in the appropriate context.

5) Rahel and her friend Betty are good at braiding hair into corn rows. I look good in corn rows. Thankfully, there are no pictures of that moment.

6) Even in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia you can hear a Don William's song on the radio. I love Don Williams.

7) It is impossible to describe the poverty in Addis Ababa. There are lepers on the streets, children/babies living on the street begging for food. My mind and heart can't figure out what to do with what I've seen. How are those sites supposed to find peace in my thoughts? This has helped me begin to grasp my reality in appropriate context, especially this week. I pray God use this insight for his glory in my life.

8) The spirit of the Ethiopian people is strong. They are courteous, humble, beautiful.

9) You don't have to understand the language being spoken to worship God, to dance with strangers in praise, or to be comforted by the Word being preached. Amen, Halleluiah, Jesu Christo.




10) My Dad has cancer. MY Dad. My mom's husband and boyfriend since she was in the 8th grade. My brother's dad has cancer. Daddy has been diagnosed through blood work, and the Dr. anticipates he will be confirmed through a biopsy that he has multiple myloma. If that isn't spelled correctly I don't care. I talked to Chris right after the Dr. gave them the news. I've got a good brother. I'm especially grateful for him in moments like this.

Multiple myloma is, as I understand at this moment, a cancer in his bone marrow. The cancer has started to degenerate his spine which has been causing his increasing pain. But there is good news in all of this: The Dr. said this is "highly treatable." It won't spare Dad the pain or what is to come, or the months we are getting ready to face, but they have an attack plan, that has had good success. They have a treatment for his back without surgery that may help alleviate the pain almost totally, almost immediately. He will begin chemotherapy, and when he is considered in remission (which means the cancer has stopped progressing) he will have a bone marrow transplant. They will actually take his own marrow out - treat it with chemotherapy - and put it back in. I hate all of this. It makes me want to throw my computer against the wall to type that, but he raised me better than to act like a fool. I love him so much. He is the hand that holds mine.

I got to talk to him on the phone for a minute last night. Mom handed him the phone and he said "make it snappy I got a lot goin on right now." He makes me laugh more than anyone else on earth. I feel sorry for people who don't get to spend life with him.

Thank you to everyone who is praying for him and for our family. Pray for Dad's healing, my mom's strength, my brother's leading, Leigh as she loves and cares for Chris, Jordi Birdie and Shawn as they go through this time in their family, and pray for me.

11) In spite of the difficult things we've seen, and even with all that is going on at home, our time here in Addis Ababa has been pretty amazing. The kids are great. We have new friends here, and have been on some really, really lovely walks.

We arrived safely in Addis Ababa on time, and with no sleep. It was 8 am here, but our bodies were at midnight. The plane to Ethiopia was one of the big planes you would expect it takes to carry you to another continent, but the staircases they wheeled up to the doors for our dismount kind of reminded me of those metal bleachers from high school. They herded us onto buses where we were packedinthisclose and began the journey to the terminal...I'd say about 30 yards. It certainly did not warrant the gas spent turning the ignition. An elderly lady in heels who knew exactly how my breath smelled looked at me and said "I would have walked that." Me too elderly lady whose breath I knew exactly how it smelled.

Our three checked bags were, if not the last three bags in the baggage claim area, then definitely the 2nd to last three bags. But we got them, intact and ready to roll. Yonatan (think Ethiopian for Jonathan) picked us up, and brought us to our guesthouse. He lives here. This is where this trip got pretty lovely. Yonatan is an absolutely wonderful host. He took us to get coffee. Really, really good coffee.
There is an Australian couple staying here in the house, a young lady doing work with women and children here, and a couple who adopted two girls a year ago from Ethiopia and have brought them back for a visit. She is from Chicago, is a nurse practitioner, and works for Minute Clinic. Jessica is a nurse practitioner and works for Minute Clinic in Austin. Say it with me: "small world." Yonatan upgraded Jess and I to the Master suite with two beds, a sitting area and a balcony. It is just like staying in a bed and breakfast in Ethiopia...

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...My Dad was admitted to Mercy hospital in Oklahoma City. I wish there was a way to type that sentence for full understanding, but it isn't possible. He has been in a lot of pain, but now that he is there he is not in pain. That is good. They are running tests to determine the cause of the pain he has had for the past several months that we have been thinking was a pulled ligament or infection. He has been to doctors consistently for several weeks ruling things out. We are now working to rule out cancer. I type that word as I sit here in Addis Ababa millions of miles away from him. I'm feeling a lot left out of the "we" not being with him, mom, Chris and Leigh and our family right now. But, yesterday morning as I was preparing for lift off in Washington D.C. I felt so at peace and overwhelmed by God's presence. I tweeted a Facebook status just to put it out there: "Wherever you lead. Whatever is clear, whatever is confusing. Because of who you are & faith you've given me. All my love, all my life, Jesus." That was a whole continent before I knew Dad was in the hospital. It is still my status today. Please pray for dad as we head into this confusing time this week. Pray for results that will lead us to treatment to heal his pain. Pray it is not cancer. Pray I don't hijack a plane and lose my mind before I can get home to him.

And then after all that, Yonatan took us to the orphanage and we met the kids. Soloman, quiet and gentle keeping an eye on everything while beaming a beautiful smile. Rahel, a little more shy. Her eyes smile first, but her mouth is not too far behind. She speaks less English than her brothers, so she lets them lead. Yoseph, likes to take the lead. He is a HUGGER, and he likes to give kisses and hold hands and he has a beautiful, let me repeat beautiful singing voice. I'll cry my eyes out. And Eyasu...he has an imagination, he wants to be holding hands and he says I love you a lot. Me too, Eyasu. Seeing Jessica with her kids is one of life's joys. Can hardly wait for the rest of her friends and family to see it too. The kids were right next to her the whole time. She showed them video of Ryan as they were laughing and saying "Papa." They are going to fit right in with Ryan. All 4 of the kids sang songs for us, showed us their rooms, held our hands, and showed us such love. I thought it would be the other way around.

I will get down in the floor and bawl there is so much emotion going on up in here! But, I have a God who is sufficient, who led me here and is allowing me to be a part of this time, in this place. It is confusing that all of this would have to happen in the same minutes of time, but I have a God who promises he never leaves me nor forsakes me. He never leaves Dad nor forsakes him. He has never left Ryan and Jessica. He never left these children. He works all things for the good of those who he loves and are called according to His purposes. That is peace in all circumstances. All my love, all my life, Jesus.