I had started writing my last entry at the beginning of the week.  It turned out to be prophetic.

Tuesday night I took my last dose of this round of chemo and much like the first night I woke up around 1 with fears of getting nauseous.  I once again came downstairs and lay on the couch reading and praying and must have dozed off around 4 or so.  I had decided to go into work late to get some extra sleep but shortly after 6 remembered I had a meeting I was leading that morning, so jumped out of bed and ran to the ferry.

It was a challenging Wednesday for many reasons, not the least of which I was exhausted.  I didn’t eat all day and at 4:30 rode my bike down the hill to the ferry.  While waiting for the ferry I had one of the “spells” which were the first signs of my situation.  While visiting my neurologist for a follow up 3 months ago he mentioned, as an afterthought as we were walking out the door that I should not be surprised if I had any more of these episodes.  He said people often panic thinking the tumor has returned but that isn’t the case.  The next morning after that appointment I had an episode and I was so grateful for his words.

Wednesday afternoon it was hard to remember those words from 3 months ago.  It’s my instinct to worry, something wired in my DNA.  That night I had some crazy dreams some of which reminded me of those initial days four months ago.

I stayed home from work yesterday and Lisha stayed home out of concern.  We were talking and I told her that I felt like all the emotions that I should have been feeling and processing in July were rising to the surface.  In July I put my game face on and moved forward with the same determination that I generally take with any challenge in life.  Now all that was crumbling stirred by a variety of things.

I didn’t have much of an appetite for dinner and for some reason decided to take my temp.  I was running a low-grade fever.  Over the past couple of days I had thought I had a fever and had taken my temperature but it was normal.  Now I am wondering if I’ve had a temp off and on over the past few days all of which have contributed to these emotions.

I know it is a normal human reaction when facing a crisis to have fears, rational and otherwise.  But at the same time wonder if it is just weak faith on my part.  I tell myself that my faith isn’t weak now but it can be hard to assimilate into my fiber.

The other day during my daily quiet time I was reading 1 John 3:1 which says “What great love the Father has lavished on us that we should be called children of God!  And that is what we are.”  That picture of a child and father relationship is scattered throughout the Bible.

“Because he inclined his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live.”  I love the image of the Father “inclining his ear” toward the child.  Often, I have knelt beside the bed of a sick or sleepy daughter leaning over to get my ear close enough to hear a little voice.

“Though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand.”  When the kids were toddlers doing what toddlers do on uneven paths, it was instinctual to hold their hand.  You did it because it was a near-certainty they would stumble on a root, a rock or just their own toddling feet.  Because you knew they would stumble you held their hand to keep them from falling all the way to the ground and getting hurt.

“You are my hiding place.”  When the kids were little and scared of something they had seen or heard they would want to be held closely.  Hannah in her cute little way would say “hold you Daddy, hold you.”  They would want to be hidden from danger.

As I wrestle with these memories and the emotions that were with them but never expressed at the time, I feel like a child.  I need the Father to incline his ear toward me, hold me with his right hand and be my hiding place.  I am so grateful for friends and family that when I fire off the flare asking for prayer and support, they rally to my side.  I have never seen anything like it.

Alisha and the girls are my rock.  Every day, I can’t wait to see them.  I know this will pass but the journey through is mud and mire.