Room Darkening

Something magical happened in the midst of this year’s Lenten season. I gained roughly four hours of daylight.

Nowadays, I am jumping for joy that the sun actually wakes me up, but the extra daylight causes a ruckus at the end of the day. My kiddo loves looking out his bedroom window, so much as to completely fray the string that opens and closes the blinds. The pulley mechanism has completely failed, and the blinds have been stuck in an open position. While this served us well in the dark evenings of winter. Our new reality is that the light coming through the window at bedtime makes my son believe one thing, it’s not bedtime.

Here in the great state of Michigan, we will go from nine hours of daylight at winter’s end, to fifteen hours of daylight when summer hits. Right now, we are reaping the benefit of the extra boost of sunshine, well let’s face it daylight without sun. More like, hello cloudy days - Lenten days - surrendering days - path to resurrection days.

Forty days of fasting as a means to surrender to God’s prompting in my life, felt just like that, a mix of light and dark. A mix of freedom and discomfort. Peace and awkward stillness. Getting stuck in making decisions. I don’t like stillness. I don’t like being quiet in my thought space nor bored. Like at Walt Disney World, I want to buy my way through waiting in the long lines.

There is a section of the Bible written by the prophet Jeremiah that expresses his pure sadness for the fallen city of Jerusalem.

I am guessing this Easter, you may be feeling an immense amount of agony.

Has the loved one you’ve adored been called home to be with Jesus?
Has the pain that keeps you up at night only progressively gotten worse?
Can anything good prevail after the loss you’ve experienced?
Has justice not prevailed?
Will the triggers of life, not being the way you expected it to be, ever let up?
Will there be a day that your previous friendship becomes restored?
How did this unwanted job change happen?

Jeremiah addresses this pain, “He has driven me away and made me walk in darkness rather than light” (Lamentations 3:2 NIV). 

I have a friend, who knows pain. Pain that destroys. Suffering that isolates. My friend has said to me, “I just have a dark cloud that follows me everywhere I go.”

And somehow even in all Jeremiah witnessed, he recalls this truth:

“Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him” (Lamentations 3:21-24 NIV).

Collectively, we wait for the Lord. We can make the choice to wait in surrender to Him because His love never runs out for us.

We wait and surrender like every day is Resurrection Sunday.

“When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life’” (John 8:12 NIV).

Have you made the decision to surrender the darkness of this world for the light of eternity with Christ?

Fifteen years ago, on Easter Sunday, I sat in church alone, doing just that. I forfeited the ways the darkness of the world would no longer keep me from the plans God had for me.

This Easter, we get to do just that, accept God’s costly gift of Jesus’ life with the acceptance of His invitation to one day never walk in darkness for eternity. 

It’s possible, you’ve already made that decision to give your life to Jesus. You’ve died to yourself and the desires of this world for the gift of walking with God now and for eternity. 

In what area of your life can you trade the darkness that overcomes you for God’s glorious light? 

I’m praying that you join me in opening the blinds here on Earth and for eternity. 

It’s not bedtime friends! 

Let’s find Resurrection Day, every day!

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).

Lent—Fasting—Victory

It’s my favorite season of the year.

It’s the perfect bridge between the dull winter, and the hope for some spring sunshine.

Best of all, dead things come alive.

Lent is here!

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Winter 2025, came with the unexpected gift of trekking laundry to friends’ houses for four weeks; so many snow days for the kids; unpleasant driving conditions because of the said snow; not nearly enough sun; and hardest of all, embracing the death of my grandma.

After my grandma passed away, I remember thinking, Lent is around the corner.

Growing up, the days of Lent were just about the only thing more important than the Christmas season. I fondly remember my grandma taking me to the local convenience store to treat me to a meal because I had given up fast food for Lent. There was another time, she joined my family for an Ash Wednesday service at the church we formerly attended, and the message changed my life forever.

The priest taught the congregation about fasting and the motives behind it in a way that still impacts me today. Every January at my current church, the entire congregation takes on a season of fasting and praying. It never fails, people will tell me all about what they’re fasting for twenty-one days; and they go on to ask what I’m doing, and I completely freeze.

When I was in middle school, the priest ingrained in me to keep what I was fasting to myself. That what I wanted to fast was between me and God.

The Bible says, “But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you” (Matthew 6:17-18 NIV). 

For over twenty-five years, it has been my mission to keep my fasting life secret.

Yet, I love when other people share what they are fasting, it helps inspire me and support through the long stretch. 

This Lenten season, I am treasuring intimacy with God. 

I love that all those years ago, the priest taught me to cling to the Lord for strength. Most importantly, remembering to partner with God in a season of fasting. In more ways than one, my younger days of eating a meal packed from home and refraining from soda, taught me that my relationship with God is between me and him.

Prior to being diagnosed with cancer, I remember fasting to shut off the distractions around me and denying myself from the unhealthy ways I tend to cope. In denying myself of comfort and searching for the answers to my health issues, I wanted my groans to turn to the Lord.

I needed him to strengthen me and reveal to me what glorifying him looked like in my agony. The discomfort and tension of fasting made room for me to cling to the Lord, drawing my eyes toward him. 

Recently, in this blog post, I mentioned that in 2024, it was my goal to move forward from the unpleasant realities that cancer handed me. I knew in 2025, I needed to work on taking my thoughts captive and trusting his plans for me. I needed to strengthen my dependence on him. And I thought for sure, that would be my 2025 mission: dependence on God. 

After seeking what he wanted for me, I discovered I needed to focus on the vehicle that would bring me to depending on the Lord.

Hello my 2025 ride.

Hello seasons of fasting.

Hello: surrender.

Whether it is Lent or my own personal season of fasting, there is value in denying myself of the treasures of this world. In more ways than one, surrendering my ways for his ways is exactly where he wants me.

In my life, this looks like being vulnerable when chatting with a friend, my kids riding the chair lift without me at the ski area. and doing the hard things I prefer to avoid. Most of all, surrendering my understanding has been my greatest area of growth. There have been several life-changing instances this year, where I have had to move forward regardless of having all the answers.

Surrender makes me feel like a deer in headlights.

Surrender is costly..

Surrender is fixing my eyes on the one who controls all the things.

Surrender is trading my personal comfort in observance of God’s son dying on the cross for my sin.

Jesus tells the Pharisees, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10 NIV). His way is full of hope, life, and eternity with him.

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My Grandma was a die-hard Chicago Cubs fan. After a Cubs win at home, a white flag with a blue W is hoisted over the scoreboard. When celebrating her life this winter, I couldn’t unsee, we win when we raise our white flag because of the finished work on the cross.

“But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 15:57 NIV)

We win when we surrender our addictions. We win when we don’t argue with our spouse just to be right. We win when we celebrate someone else’s win. We win when we do the unimaginable: ask for forgiveness and forgive those who have hurt us. We win when we put our lives and future in the hands of the one who gave us life.

Join me in preparing our hearts for Easter by trading the treasures of this world for security in Christ.

Let’s find that everyday gold over the next forty days.

Will you join me?

My Age in Dog Years

On a day like today, I would love to sit across the table from my grandpa and ask him to guess my age. I can see it clear as day. His wide open eyes, like my daughter’s, laughing through a grin stretching from ear to ear. His belly would be moving up and down in sync with his surprised laugh. Just like the game he always played when I was growing up, I would be giving him a taste of his own medicine.

When I was a little girl, my grandpa made his best attempt to stay young by claiming his dog was older than him. It never failed as his granddaughter, that I had to guess who was older, the dog or him.

On a day like today, I’d love to bust his chops, that my kids, nieces and nephews are older than me.

On a day like today, I would crack the joke for my grandpa, but not actually celebrate that I am two years old.

On a day like today, I am flooded with the beauty of caring for a friend and her newborn baby, using the garage code to get access to a friend’s house to serve her family, traveling long distances solo, exposing myself to families with viruses, and my favorite of all: enjoying a peaceful, joy-filled, before school kind of morning with my family.

On a day like today, I remember the version of myself that would have never imagined the air I get to breathe today.

On a day like today, I celebrate the gift God has given me through the redeeming work he is doing in me every day.

The joy of being transplanted into his family for eternity makes room for every day on Earth to be accredited to him.

On a day like today, I praise God that his righteousness saturates my earthly filth and decay.

On a day like today, I am X amount of moments, days, and years old living securely in him.

To ultimately move through the heartache I described here, monumental days like today, simply belong to the Lord.

Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices;
my body also will rest in hope,
because you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead,
you will not let your holy one see decay.
You have made known to me the paths of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence.
Acts 2:26-28

On a day like today friends, we have the opportunity to be transplanted from the ways of this fleeting world into God’s heavenly riches.

Everyday gold is ageless. Let’s find that everyday gold that will even outlast my transplant.

2024ward and Beyond

Throughout most of my life, I have excelled at one thing in particular: staying stuck in the past. The flies on my walls have heard their share of my hubby saying, “I thought you moved on from that.”

Call it my personality, call it my experiences, call it whatever you want, I lurk around the things that I’ve lived through. While I do believe there’s value in reminiscing and learning from the past, my thoughts here will encapsulate a season of growing away from being stuck.

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Prior to ringing in 2024, I attended a comedy event. For the majority of the event, the entertainer laughed at his own jokes regarding Heaven and how people got there. He role played this scene in Heaven where everyone was sharing how they passed from Earth on to Heaven.

I really didn’t like his style of making a joke out of eternity, but at that moment I had been throwing a pity party for myself post-cancer treatment. So, regardless of the comedian’s delivery, I needed to hear exactly how self-focused I was wallowing in my cancer journey. My realization that night: when I get to Heaven, I am pretty sure no one will care what got me there, so why do I care about my suffering now?

More than any physical side effect of chemotherapy and my stem cell transplant between 2022-2023, nothing compared to the emotional slaughter I was experiencing post-treatment. I was coming off of the trauma of cancer care: aggressive and in some cases negligent healthcare professionals, loved ones disappointed in my decisions, silence from people I never expected to block me out, and my corpse flashing through my mind. Harder than any of that, my heart was broken into pieces that I was free from cancer, and so many people suffer from an array of health challenges that just won’t go away.

At the turn of 2024, God was convincing me to move forward from what had happened to me. I had to commit to doing the hard thing, and stop avenging my version of what happened to me. As if he was speaking directly in my ear, God pressed into me, “Do you not trust me to heal those people at just the right moment too?” And while my heavy heart still breaks for the suffering, I’ve moved forward in allowing God to do the heavy lifting part: the part he is sovereign over.

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We can more than likely agree, the turn of the calendar year doesn’t mean 2024 is over.

2024 is like, “Hi 2025. I’m still here. I still don’t have a job. I still have that pain. I still haven’t come to terms with XYZ. That ailment is still lingering. And my loved one is still gone.”

For me, the new year reminds me of the weight I still try to carry with my own strength. 

It’s the weight of things out of my control. Weight I need to release to God, that he alone can take care of. There’s no burning the midnight oil solely to wrap my life up perfectly before falling off to sleep.

This year, I’m continuing the work of moving forward, and making room for God to carry the load.

What is the turn of the year casting on you?

Let’s adjust the sails, and ride into the next calendar year ready for calm and choppy weather.

Because here’s the reality, we can’t stay put in the middle of deep water for too long. Yes, there is a season for rest and lament, but if you are anything like me, we can embrace a long season of lament and grieving while moving towards what God has in store for our lives.

The unfinished work he is still doing with the breath in our lungs is on the horizon.

There’s a sea of everyday gold within reach. Let’s find it together!

Swaddled in Security

Recently, I’ve been basing my purchases off of whether or not I can get free delivery. I suppose it has become an obsession, to the point where I’ve been able to track the price of my shopping cart and purchase at just the right time, with just the right deal.

In one particular instance, my cart had over three hundred dollars worth of freebies and a few regular priced products. I was going to get several gifts crossed off of my list all in one purchase. Music to my ears.

My shopping cart was well worth $300 in goodies, but my subtotal didn’t equal at least $50 in merchandise to qualify for free delivery. I refused to pay almost $70 in shipping for my freebies and discounted items. Maneuvering items in my cart to get my subtotal up, I was spending way too much time selecting merchandise, that never brought me to the necessary subtotal to be granted free delivery.

Mission failed. I chopped it up as, while I didn’t get the best deal, I didn’t pay for delivery, and I saved money by not hitting the purchase button. The truth of the matter, it was one less delivery I had to keep track of receiving.

Somehow, this is what the holiday season has turned into: receiving deliveries.

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While delivery is what Christmas is about, it’s not the one I’ve been pricing out. The season is for receiving deliverance from the emptiness of the world we live in. The gift of security in Jesus doesn’t cost us nearly what it cost for Jesus. He was slain to deliver us from sin, and extend to us freedom from this world with the hope that we get to be with Him for eternity when we welcome this pricey gift into our lives.

Will you join me receiving this gift of hope?

Everywhere we turn, reality reminds us there is more pain than anyone should ever have to experience. Too many people suffer from unforeseen illness, loss, and grief. Hopes crushed and dreams set to the side. Jobs cancelled. Darkness looming.

‘Tis the season to sing, “Joy to the World.”

Linus from, A Charlie Brown Christmas shifted his gaze in all the holiday, hustle best. Before he recites the Bible’s definition of Christmas, Charlie Brown says, “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?”

Regardless of getting Christmas wrong or our unwanted circumstances, this is the cry of Christmas: we need something more than this world can offer.

The famous Linus knew the beauty of finding security in the world. He clung to his blanket for comfort wherever he went. Yet, he knew the truth about earthly security, it doesn’t exist. He shows this in the movie by sacrificing his security blanket.

What is it that we can sacrifice or offer to the Lord this Christmas?

Security in our health, jobs, relationships, retirement funds, to-do list, you name it, is fleeting.

The Christmas of 2021, the pain in my hips and sacrum tortured me everywhere I turned. Covid was canceling all the life happening around us, and threatening my health and future surgery in big ways. And then there was the cherry on top, Christmas 2022. That year, my friend reminded me of Kevin’s view of Christmas in the movie, Home Alone 2: Lost in New York, “This is it. No turning back. Another Christmas in the trenches.”

A couple of years ago, Christmas seemed to slip away from me. Instead of spending all of December baking my grandma’s lemon cookies, wrapping gifts, and spoiling loved ones, I was stuck in bed, and attempting to swallow food. I spent Christmas Eve in a sterile chair receiving chemotherapy - for a cancer so stubborn it wouldn’t go away.

Where are you this Christmas?

What are you truly needing deliverance from?

It’s the place where we find ourselves clinging to security in something that can only end up leaving us frazzled, disappointed, and insecure. In Christmas fashion, pass the reins over to the Lord.

We learn from the Bible that the wise men were en route to bring down the newborn King, and God redirected their hearts (Matthew 2 NIV). We also have access to this same life changing power. Where God redirects our hearts towards Him.

Fear turns to strength.

Control bows to submission.

Mourning turns to rejoicing.

Intrusive thoughts swirl into proclaiming truth.

Earth collides with Eternity.

Satan’s schemes shift to grave shaking, everyday gold - the praise we give to our King. No matter what our circumstances are we can rejoice (1 Thes 5:16-18 NIV).

Fixing our eyes on the everyday gold that comes from God’s plans for our lives delivers us from the insecurity of this world.

For those who’ve been holding me up through my cancer journey, you know Brandon Lake’s song, “Gratitude” is my scan jam. You can read more about that scanxiety here at, "Gratitude Hasn't Been the Loudest." This is a part of the song I've overlooked until this Christmas. It’s the part about Christ’s birth. The part where obedience submits to His divinity.

And I know it's not much
But I've nothing else fit for a King
Except for a heart singing hallelujah
Hallelujah

We don’t have anything fit for our King. The wise men displayed this when they attempted to find baby Jesus, so the king they worked for could kill Jesus and contain his power (Matthew 2:2-3, 7-8,16 NIV). Their life was changed for the better despite their loaded gift (Matthew 2:9-10 NIV). They led by example, praising our King, and leaving changed (Matthew 2:12 NIV).

Where am I containing the power I think belongs to me?

I’ve done my share of purchasing gifts loaded with expectations for loved ones. I’ve had big hopes that they would receive my love and hopefully return the favor by loving me, seeing me, and showing up in my life. Gifts to them that benefit me. Those gifts of insecurity never lead to peace.

Receive our King, and leave changed like the wise men. Treading a new path with our hearts and minds, “Prepare Him room.”

In the song “Joy to the World” the songwriter declares, “The Lord has come. Let Earth receive her King.” What is keeping you from accepting baby Jesus as the King of your life? Where can you, “Prepare Him room,” this Christmas, so that you have a place at His table for eternity?

What if, He took care of all the “delivering” this time?

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I am so blessed to be here on earth, healthy for Christmas. My body is better acclimated to its new chemo absorbed, stem cell charged, hormone stripped self than last year. One thing cancer does well, slams mortality in your face.

And while I’ve seen deliverance in my health over cancer, like you, there are some cries of my heart that still haven’t been fulfilled and don’t go away. God’s timing is never our timing. And we could spend an entire lifetime waiting for the storm to pass.

So, instead of tracking the status of our deliverance from those unfortunate circumstances, we can fix our gaze on the gold God has poured out over our lives.

You’ve heard me say it here on the blog, “I dreamed of growing old - So I’m embracing the gift of everyday gold.”

Bringing my everyday gold to Jesus, like the wise men brought their gifts to Him as a babe.

Praise. Worship. Blessings. Hallelujahs. Amens. Glimmers of light. Hard circumstances God will use for His glory. All every day findings I’ve received from our Lord, that I get to give Him thanks for. Those Hell shaking, Earth shattering, gold findings, shift my heart securely in Him.

There's gold out there. Let's find our security together!

When it Rains, It Pours

I love a good downpour. I love when a hot summer day reroutes our busy day to slow down and stay inside. Against my kids’ liking, I love a stormy day. Easy for me to say, I have never endured a tropical storm. Yet, I can say, life often feels like I am being tossed by the waves. Have you felt this way, tossed by the waves not knowing how to stay afloat?

My day started falling apart. Right away, I caught on. It’s scan week. This is just part of the drill for scan week/oncology appointments/life events/fill in your hurdle.

Attempting to amp myself up, I repeated to myself - Okay, I can do this. Just keep my eyes focused on God. Like Peter kept his gaze on Jesus and walked out to him on the water. Remember Amy, Peter started sinking when he shifted his gaze off of Jesus and onto the blustering wind (Matthew 14:27-30 NIV).

Feeling confident, and expecting the waves, I tried moving forward and recovering my account that was hacked. Etched in my soul were the words, “We will get back to you within forty-eight hours.” As if I was stabbed in the chest, I fell apart. Not being able to contact the company for support, and waiting out the forty-eight hours was torture. I had no control over the situation, nor would any of my efforts be of benefit.

My friend reached out to me while waiting on my scan results, and all I said to her was, “When it rains, it pours.”

And while my life wasn’t under persecution, thank you Jesus for this protection, the spiritual realm we live amongst is like choppy water. The warfare is happening all around us, to keep us from locking eyes with Jesus, whether we are on solid ground or raging water.

The storm intensified into what felt like the ten plagues of Amy’s life.

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Eight years ago, I remember my life circumstances following this exact pattern.

My family was moving from Illinois to Michigan. All the things were going well, but out of nowhere some really wonky things started to happen.

One day, I pulled up to my home in Illinois, and I felt that eerie feeling of someone being in my house, when I saw the door to the house left open. Surely the door wasn’t open when I left. It ended up being just a fluke, but I wasn’t having it; especially with my hubby out of town.

The septic system malfunctioned.

High radon levels showed up on inspection reports.

As we prepared to have our house go on the market, we noticed there were a few bees outside on our front porch. So, we mitigated the bees outside, to quickly discover, there were swarms of bees coming in through the walls of our basement. Hello, emergency exterminator fees outside of business hours. We had about thirty-six hours to make it look like there was no sign of buzzing before our first showing.

Buzzing check.

Meowing-not check.

Days before we pulled out of the driveway to embark on our journey moving from Illinois to Michigan, we were eating dinner, and I remember my husband looking up from his plate and avoiding eye contact with me. At the sound of my ears ringing, I knew he knew something I didn’t know. Simultaneously, my appetite drastically changed, and I discovered what my husband had been keeping from me when I heard purring come from the garage. A cat had her kittens in not just any place, in my garage.

Now, before you click the unsubscribe button, I love that you love cats. Go you! I am just not as kind of a person as you. It’s not even that I don’t like cats, I am terrified of cats. So for the final sleeps in our first home, I was terrorized by the real sounds of innocent kittens purring. I even refused to eat at my kitchen table.

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It’s happened before that the layers of stress build up during stressful life circumstances. This is what the rollercoaster ride looked like during the most recent round of scans and appointments:

• Hack: It would have been nice if the social media hack was a one and done hit. But it wasn’t. The developer locked my account; yet, they allowed the hacker to strike with a vengeance and collect a lot of money from the people I cherish.

• Parent teacher conferences that had me wincing at the words coming off the teacher’s mouth as this person described my precious kiddo’s challenges.

• My husband was traveling.

• I had a crazy idea to teach my son’s preschool class how to sew.

• Mad dash to get our sprinkler system blown out on the eve of our first bout with snow.

• Kiddos spitting on each other, as if they were running out of emotions to melt through.

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You are probably wondering if we moved and acted like there wasn’t a litter of kittens hanging out in the garage. Neither my husband nor I wanted to get involved with a cat and her litter. Surprisingly, we realized the people who work with rescuing kittens and eliminating bees were more terrified than us.

We called for a resolution, and it was in more ways than one uncomfortable for them to improve our situation. This dumbfounded me. I for sure thought confidence and technique was a given for someone in these lines of work. Let’s just say, I have the joy of replaying the vivid memory of two exterminators terrified to spray the bees that were coming out of my basement walls.

Lucky for the people who bought our home, we spent the money to make sure the future homeowners didn’t have any surprises.

This is exactly where God wants me today: trusting that he spent the money to pave my future, so there would be no surprise. He bought me with the blood of his son Jesus. Bought me back from my sin, so that one day I will spend eternity with him. And that’s the kind of home I want to buy, the one with no surprises. That this world will indeed have trouble, but God has already overcome it (John 16:33 NIV).

Praise the Lord, the confidence and assurance I can walk in knowing this truth that I will spend eternity with him, isn’t one of fear, like the exterminator flailing his arms, wincing, and running from the bees.

My confidence is in my Heavenly Father who is not surprised by the chaos of the world. Sometimes life doesn’t bring out the best of me. Still, God is drawing the best of himself out of my life. I just need to depend on him.

While I hate the decay of this world, I love the redemption and restoration that Jesus provides. For that I am truly grateful.

God sees the storms we are in. He is right there with us. We only need to reach out to him in faith that he’s got this.

You’ve got this friend. You can do hard things.

Oh yes, that too - my scan was unremarkable. I am unremarkable. Here’s the reference to these life goals.

A Sweet Handful of Octobers

Recently, a friend came out for her family’s annual fall trip. We recounted the unfiltered beauty of fall in Michigan. We went all the way down memory lane to recount seven years of this tradition through photos on our phones. We were mixing up some of the years, as we remembered the good old days. We couldn’t help, but laugh about avoiding the hayride because the little one didn’t want to sit in the hay, and the year we got lost in the corn maze. Then, there was the time we had plans to go to the farm, but I went to the emergency room with compounding fevers, night sweats, and fatigue. This year’s trip will go down as the one where the pumpkin donuts were left behind.

Last month, I shared the repetitiveness of September in my life here, and the ways I proactively got ahead of my angst for the seasons changing here. September was incredible, partly because I was prepared, but the weather and sunshine were on point too.

Somehow, I cruise into October thinking to myself I can tackle anything.

Reality hits hard: the sun wakes up at 8am way after me, which is never good for anyone who has to interact with me before that, and my body just shuts down as if I were hibernating for the winter. And somehow, I get to the end of the month thinking: what just happened?

To my (limited) understanding, my body was designed to follow a circadian rhythm. Circadian rhythm impacts my sleep cycle, my energy, and adapts to the pattern of life happening all around me. I know friends who build their lives around adapting to the seasons, daylight, and embracing their circadian rhythm by eating fall foods and not looking at screens at night.

From my experience working on a farm, I’ve noticed farmers go from approximately fourteen to sixteen hours of daylight, working hours to about eight or ten. And while my heart jumps for joy that my farmer friends get that season to wind down quicker and rest in anticipation of next year’s planting, cultivating, and harvesting that is just not where I am. I am not a farmer.

My animals, I mean children, will be getting home just barely an hour before the sun goes down, when we turn over the clocks for daylight savings. So, while my body craves to crash at 4pm, I am sprinting a marathon jamming all things dinner, homework, family time, and activities into a three hour time frame.

You’ve heard me talk about combating this fog here. And for the record, being intentional is making all the difference. I can’t even imagine staying stuck with my digestion and challenging hormones that cause my mood to fluctuate.

October sneaks up on the best of us.

Yet, when my friend and  I were piecing together our annual festivities, I realized it wasn’t just bliss, it legit felt like years of whiplash. Yes, the memories of the kids being little, and having this quality time together is precious, but like I already said, there was that time we had plans to go to the farm, but I went to the emergency room instead.

If our bodies have a circadian rhythm, health challenges and October have this pattern too! For five years, my health has battled hard in October.

October 2020 - My husband and I declared before our family and church that we would put our son’s life and future in the hands of our Lord at his dedication. That our son’s name Silas, reminds us that when we praise our Father, prison walls crumble (Acts 16:25-34 NIV). We are no longer bound, but free through Him. Within a couple of days, I was roaming my halls from twelve in the morning to three in the morning, limping in pain, thinking to myself, this sure feels like a prison cell. 

October 2021- The hope of new lesions in safer places, warranted emergency room visits and compounding opinions from specialists.

October 2022 - I went from dreaming of a party to celebrate remission, to excessive pain, restless nights, surgery, and second opinions. Back to my original prison cell. My first chapter of chemotherapy didn’t do the trick, and October exploded because of it. Gratefully, I think every weekend that month we were surrounded by family and made sure we were having fun.

October 2023 - I’m in remission, the kids are transitioning to their new school, and the menopause bomb goes off.

October 2024 - The “aha moment” - I am free. I am free. I am free. I am free.  

Through it all, I wouldn’t trade these full circle moments colliding and a clean bill of health. God doesn’t give me microwave answers. For better or for worse, He gives freedom.

Back in October of 2022, this scripture became my anthem, “For we have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you” (2 Chronicles 20:10 NIV). The moabites and ammonites were closing in on King Jehoshaphat and the people of Judah. The people of Judah desired deliverance from their enemy. The Spirit of the Lord goes on to say, “Listen, King Jehoshaphat and all who live in Judah and Jerusalem! This is what the Lord says to you: ‘Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God’s’” (2 Chronicles 20:15 NIV).

My battle with cancer was a five year battle that continues. Whether prevalent in my life or flying under the radar, like the way October feels, the battle belongs to the Lord.

Whatever pattern or season you are in, the battle belongs to the Lord.

The pain you’re experiencing or the restless nights that won’t go away, the battle belongs to the Lord.

The rallying you are doing in your own strength, the battle belongs to the Lord.

The tears spilling over, “Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God’s” (2 Chronicles 20:15 NIV). 

When we don’t know what to do, Lord, the battle belongs to you.

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There’s a battle out there. He’s the gold worth clinging to. We can praise Him for that.

It’s The Most Sugary Time of Year

Big Disclaimer: This is by no means medical advice. It is merely a collection of my experiences and desires. Talking to your health professional is the best way to get medical advice.

Booked! My next scan is on the books for November. It seems like just yesterday, I was prepping for my May birthday scan. I wrote about that special birthday celebration here. When I saw my oncologist to go over my routine scan, I remember confessing to him, “I eat birthday cake every day.” He laughed, like what in the world are you talking about. While every day is a birthday after beating cancer, it’s also not part of my remission regimen to eat cake every day.

At just about every appointment, I attack my doctor, “How do I keep the cancer away?” And his answer is always the same. In some way or form he goes on about living a healthy lifestyle, and not eating sugar. He always adds, “Enjoy the cake on your birthday, for sure. But get off the sugar.”

I’m confident he’s never experienced menopause and sugar cravings. Unfortunately, contrary to my liking, the sugar is still on my no list and his answer never changes.

Since that May encounter with the trajectory of my health (grateful to report: clean), I’ve been more conscious than ever of the immense amount of stressors on my hormones - some I have control over and some I don’t have any control over.

My body really absorbs all the goodness of extra sun and warmth. Where I live in Michigan, we even have daylight well past 9PM for the majority of the summer. The switch of seasons from summer to fall and winter to spring just about knocks me out every year. I shared my intentions to be proactive with my lifestyle in September, to get ahead of the season turning and keeping my mood in tact as best as possible here. Here are a few ways I challenged myself to preserve my summer energy over the course of September: 10,000 steps daily, improve water consumption, 2 workouts at the gym per week, and protein centered meals

Setting a goal for the most sugary time of the year seems just too intense. So while it would be nice to make it to January with consistency, I am working towards sustaining the following goals through October. Then, potentially up to my scan mid-November. To close out the year on track would truly be remarkable. Here’s where I want to be by the end of October:

• Eating protein rich meals every three hours - hello, my little protein helper!

• Drinking more than 1/2 my weight in water

• Increasing my Vitamin D intake - a staple in cancer treatment, recovery, and lifting my mood when those gray skies hit.

• Supplementing my body with nutrients - combatting mid-day fatigue, leg cramps, and nauseousness while working out! *See more below

• Climbing my biggest mountain: 8 hours of sleep @ night

• Attempting to continue from September: 10,000 steps daily and 2 workouts a week at the gym

That day in May, I ended up being the butt of my own joke. I also had to tell my doctor I had been getting bruises on my legs. He looked at my friend, who tagged along for the appointment and went right for it, “Your clothes are too tight. Like you said, you are eating birthday cake every day, right?” Shots fired. I still can see my friend laughing in the corner.

Now, when I see him this November, I will confidently say, “I am not eating birthday cake every day. I may still have gained thirty pounds since my diagnosis in February of 2022, I’m a whole different person than I was six months ago.”

Fighting to be trim like my cancer body is really just not realistic nor a healthy mindset. While being in good shape and eating healthy will play a pivotal role in mitigating cancer, there are bigger fish to fry.

Maintaining my energy to keep up with my family and rebuild from the side effects of cancer treatment is my top priority. I am excited to focus on curbing sugar and boosting my mood, energy and overall health.

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Are you eager to reclaim your health too?

While it would be nice to fit back into my favorite pair of jeans, I just want the imprint of menopause to be a little less exhausting.

Are you like me and need accountability?

Let’s join forces. I’d love to hear which of my October goals interests you the most and connect with each other. Drop me a note here, or leave a comment at the bottom.

Are you wanting to go the extra mile?

Like me, do you want to be ready to combat the Halloween goodies, cozy fall desserts, big Thanksgiving suppers, and holiday dinners? Maybe you are in the same boat as me, and want to kiss a symptomatic life goodbye? Join me and a few friends of mine on Thursday October 17th at 8:30PM ET (7:30PM CT) to dive deeper into supporting our bodies in a way where sugar doesn’t get the final say. I will look out for your reply via text, Facebook Messenger, or the comments below to get you the link!

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Scan season and the most sugary time of the year simply don’t make a great pair. 

Let’s find the everyday gold in our health together!

Worthy of All Control

Hi October! I made it! Despite the turn of seasons I am up and at it.

Last year at this time, I was six months post stem cell transplant, and while I was itching for life to be back to normal, my body was just not there. This post shares more about what turning a page that didn’t want to turn felt like.

So, this year, I threw all my energy into making the transition from summer to fall less messy. At the beginning of September, I noted here on the blog the ways September had hit me hard in the past.

I attempted to derail September’s schemes with fitting in 10,000 steps a day, drinking an insane amount of water, strategically planning meals around protein, inviting loved ones to come visit in Michigan, making my bed religiously, staying put versus traveling, diving into God’s word, and reflecting on God’s goodness of everyday gold.

My survival kit to combat a stuck September really saved my month that got wonky, as expected.

An unexpected “snow day,” from school and the most amazing 80 degree September day sent us running with friends to the beach. Nothing beats the beach like clear skies and small, weekday crowds. Within 15 minutes of settling into our spot, we started to get swarmed by flies.

We stuck out the attack for about an hour, and we unanimously decided to get as far away from the beach as possible and head home. Of course it went this way. Flies stinging us and driving us away would for sure make for a “September,” outing.

By the grace of God, my kids got sick. Yep you heard that right. Not only did I relish in the extra quality time with each kiddo at separate times, I flooded my mind with the fact that they got sick first. Here’s why: I went ahead and got a fever too.

Reaching for the fever meds, my intrusive thoughts of cancer returning flooded my mind. Of course it happened moments after welcoming September here on the blog. My house got polluted with a wild six hour fever for some and a four day fever for the others. Sandwiched between two sick kiddos, I grasped for a deep breath that my kids had fevers. It’s just a fever.

When cancer flooded my body, night sweats, fevers, and chills persisted and redirected my days without notice. Fast forward to my low grade fever leaving me feeling all of my cells moving through my marrow. The spot on my back that sent my doctor declaring, “I wasn’t out of the woods yet,” even felt like it was throbbing. September definitely started in dramatic fashion.

September also brought great surprises too. We had a visitor for two extra days, birthday celebrations, and the most gorgeous weather we’ve seen in four months: clear skies, eighty degree pool weather days, and cool nights to open the windows.

My daughter’s birthday had closed out the month. She kept telling me she didn’t want any surprises. She doesn’t like the unscripted parts. She wanted her hand in all the things because she couldn’t settle the anticipation growing inside of her.

Somehow this September, sapphire gal has all the September feels of wanting to know all the things and to best prepare for said things.

Yet none of us are in control of the things that send us into a September spiral. Unexpected loss happens. School transitions mark both resilience and inflexibility. For better or for worse the weather changes.

I wrote in my last blog, about being afraid the other shoe was going to drop.

The September spiral has no power because God is worthy of it all.

The book of Revelation describes God declaring, “I am the Alpha and the Omega. Who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty” (Revelation 1:8 NIV).

It doesn’t escape me that some of my September mishaps felt relatively trivial. My friends faced their own version of September slapping them in the face. September didn’t go away as quickly as my mild fever. Scans, scopes, excruciating pain, job turndowns, injuries, out of the blue worsening tremors, spiritual warfare from sharing their testimony, and becoming a widow were some of the ways September has revealed their new reality.

God is worthy of our present.

God is worthy of our past.

God is worthy of our future.

I mentioned the grief I experienced when I lost my grandpa my senior year of high school here. It was the life event almost twenty years ago that set the tone for singing Green Day’s “Wake Me Up When September Ends” every September. At the end of that school year, Natasha Bedingfield’s “Unwritten” was the song I couldn’t stop singing. My friends and I would break out our over the top dance moves, screaming…

“Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten, yeah.”

A school year that started with grief, ended with hope.

The “September” days we face all year are in the hands of our almighty Father. 

Here I am, trusting God is going to do something great with all the “unwritten” parts because he is worthy of it all.

Maybe it’s the middle of the day or the depth of the night, “Today is where your book begins” - again.

You are held by the one who knows the entire book. Will you join me in trusting God with the parts you haven’t written?

Let’s find the everyday gold God has for us in every aspect of our life.

Pinch Me-It’s September

Hi September. We have a track record.

A year ago, I revealed the loss I experienced in the month of September almost two decades ago HERE.

September, you can’t snatch my comeback: delivering another babe via cesarean section, the epic girls trip to Disney, and NEEDTOBREATHE at Red Rocks.

Satan, you can’t have my September.

I’m here for all of it. The tortured transition between summer fun and school bells. The crisp air passing through my bedroom window kissing my furnace of a body. Harvest goodies. Ginger Golds.

September 2022, my oncologist etched the words in my brain, “You’re not out of the woods yet.” According to my faith, I am never really out of the woods.

September, you remind me - it’s go time!

It’s time to slay giants. It’s time to go after the enemy. It’s time to stop the evil of this world from coming after me and my crew.

Just a couple of days into September 2024, I was reminded of the enemy’s work coming after me.

I joined the leadership team for a local Bible study in my community. First day jitters, I thought to myself: people aren’t going to recognize me!

The last time I was part of this leadership team, I was bald. Bald, hit by the chemo train, hopeful for a healthy year, and blinded by my cancer’s persistence.

This year, excited and feeling 100%, I exposed myself to commitment. Committing to volunteer in a capacity cancer previously stole from me. The seminar’s facilitator encouraged the team of leaders to, “Spread good.” There it was.

Cancer, your reign of spreading bad life circumstances - thwarted.

Cutting my bag of kale for lunch after the seminar (the pains of doing my one clean eating thing for the day), I became overjoyed by the life I’m living. Fully aware of the realities of “waiting for the other shoe to drop,” I didn’t let fear overshadow the joy of serving my sovereign God.

In all the stages of cancer, healing, and survivorship, spreading good was right at my fingertips.

Spreading good is always just one decision away. No matter how September says hello to you, spreading good is available for you too!

September, I am coming for you. PR in the making. I’ll be over here wearing my “sapphire slippers” to be ready for you.

Unpacking Summer & “Mum School”

I did a thing this summer.

By noting the date of my last post, you also realize the gap.

Like I said, I did something.

Tomorrow marks ten years of raising my babes. What a blessing that I continue to raise my babes, and that they still adore and fight me raising them. Thanks God! This is truly gold that comes from you.

School is in full swing. And when I say full. Like for real full. Full of hot lunch, cold lunch, new gear, new teachers, new worries, new bus routes, new wake up times, new routines, and already the dreaded kid home from school sick multiple days. Like our bellies bursting after grandma’s Thanksgiving dinner. Bursting so much, one child gagged all of the contents of said child’s stomach in the middle of the school hallway just on the second day. And to hope, the year can only get better from here, right?

Enter my baby child flying the coop. On one of our last weekday adventures with the big kids in school, we went to said child’s favorite spot: the lake by the bagel shop. With our bagels in tote, we trekked through geese poop to get that prime seat, right next to the boat launch. Quickly by babe was in his glory: in full wardrobe chasing ducks through the murky, shallow water. To my dismay, my bagel became a donation to our new, stalking friends.

I didn’t want this moment to be over, and so with all my power and control over the moment, I told the kid that’s no longer a babe, “Let’s take a selfie.” So, the kid threw his arms around my neck and said, “Look mom. I’m like an angel on your back.”

Enter the full waterworks.

This is the kid that was exposed to the implications of cancer almost his entire existence.

After two days of a NICU stay for him, I held him in my hospital room looking out the window anticipating my husband’s arrival during the snowstorm. The building across the street caught my attention. The same view as my stem cell transplant. It was the place that cared for those battling cancer. I remember clinging to my newborn son praising God for his deliverance from suffering and good health. A view only worthy of praying for the afflicted. The future place of my care team, brains team, and the chemotherapy nurse that held me tightly.

If the postpartum season wasn’t enough, this guy would top the charts in weight and it seemed like lifting him broke my back. Cancer cells were hiding in my back. Before the babe was crawling I was laid up. I was canceling plans to help move a friend, and seeking alternative medicine to popping Advil to manage the pain, so I could simply not feel a thing and sleep through the night.

Fast forward, my unknown condition progressed, to flu-like symptoms day in and day out attached to the pain, unable to keep up with my busy toddler. He found himself with some really great women, but none of which were his mom. My bedroom door shut and locked reminded him, mom was off limits.

Enter cancer treatment for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, and he truly became my angel.

He was the hug before I left the calm, peace filled walls of my home that would later that day become stained with the after effects of chemotherapy. He was worth every struggling ask to the friend that I needed multiple times a week to watch him, so I could go to another appointment. He was the snuggle that was always available.

God gave him to me because I would need an angel for what would shortly come after his birth.

And to hope, my cancer journey will bring him more good than sorrow.

Remission and survivorship welcomed new realities and challenges for my son and I. I was still on the mend, and he would be off to preschool part-time. What a relief. Yet, he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t potty trained. Through all the shuffle of my health, he didn’t advance into this territory. No one told me this would be a side effect of cancer. We had a “healthy” year together at home. I welcomed “Mum School” as Bluey puts it.

I knew moments with my kids would be fleeting once they were all in school for majority of the day. Well and you know because scans happen, life happens, storms happen, valleys happen.

For the first time in ten years, I approached our summer days with their agenda and not mine. I set aside cleaning just to clean, watching TV just to binge, blogging, and saving money. I was failing “Mum School” balancing all the plates at the same time. And boy was it delightful, even if it drove my hubby crazy.

This week my little “Greenie” flew the coop. He’s living his best days: outdoor school.

Here’s to failing “Mum School” and asking for forgiveness.

Here’s to finding gold together!

And to hope, the year can only get better from here, right?

P.S. If you need another heart warming smile, watch the Bluey episode “Mum School.”

A Mother’s Submission

May.

Rearrange the letters.

Okay God, you have my attention.

Your’s Truly, A-M-Y

Hello all the things that May brings. In my opinion, May is busier than the festivities of December.

Field Day / Reading Campout Day / Teacher Appreciation Week / end of BSF season for our family / Holiday Weekend / School Ends / End of school year activities at the library / planting the garden / Graduation Parties / Birthday Parties / Tulip Time / Cinco de Mayo / an out of the blue kindergarten graduation for one of my littles / you get the idea because your list keeps growing too.

As a kid, my extended family got together in May to celebrate about 15 May birthdays.

For me all the things have always happened in… May.

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I recently shared HERE the torture of planting my garden at this time of year and waiting for it’s goodness to blossom several days later. May warrants cultivating, believing, and the slow process of waiting.

Over the years, May has symbolized putting on my big girl pants versus being consumed by the busy happening around me.

My Birthday - May 13

Mother’s Day - May 12

Remission from Hodgkin’s Lymphoma Day - May 24

Getting my scans in to meet with my oncologist every six months even falls in May. - Scan: May 13 and Doc: May 23

In this space and time, three out of the five happen within 24 hours.

3 Reasons to “Throw Up My Hands.”

Mother’s Day… Celebrating a lack of control. As a mom, I fight to control all the things. Disappointment, grief, loss, pain, the straight path taking a detour, the zig zags, disease, outcomes, and fear. Sometimes, I experience these myself and as a mom.

Luckily, for all of us we come from a Creator who knows all the shoes we step into, knows our hearts desires, and forgives us when we neglect obedience. Our Creator loves us, so we can love too. Our Sovereign Creator loves creating good.

Scan Day… The old familiar feeling that, “I am a bump away from a blowout.” Yet, I am feeling armored up compared to my last scan that I shared about HERE. Bracing myself because “My insides will be exposed.”

Breathe.

If the laundry phrase, “Free and Clear,” doesn’t say it all, well here’s my best shot. My prayer is that I will walk in freedom of whatever comes of my scan and the weight of dancing between milestones. Motherhood in a nutshell, right? And hopefully a little more obvious… Clear, clear, clear results and a clear mind in the waiting.

My Birthday… Remembering I am still alive. God created me on purpose for a purpose (Psalm 139:16). God’s not done with what he started.

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All the Reason to Praise Him

From scan day (May 13) to results day (May 23), join me in shifting valley thoughts into praise. Tag me on Instagram and Facebook when you embrace God’s goodness and shift those valley thoughts into gold. I will be doing exactly the same. Showing up in the social world pointing to the everyday gold God provides.

Valley shifters… let’s throw up our hands in praise of our good God.

There's gold out there. Let's find it together!

Throw Up My Hands

Disclaimer: The word friend is used to describe family, friends, blood related relatives, church family, and my cancer support group interchangeably.

Special thanks to… all of my “friends” who made what could have been a nightmare an absolute adventure. Thank you!

If one phrase can clearly express the dichotomy of cancer it’s that exactly… “throw up my hands.”

Clinging to life, but ultimately not having any control.

The good and the bad.

A universal symbol of surrender.

A spiritual symbol of dependence on worshiping God.

One of my favorite songs by Brandon Lake called “Gratitude,” moves me to do just that, surrender and “throw up my hands.”

There’s a story in the Bible of a man’s hands being held in the air. This man Moses was leading the Israelites in a battle against the Amalekites. Scripture goes on to describe Moses’ success in battle this way:

11 As long as Moses held up his hands, the Israelites were winning, but whenever he lowered his hands, the Amalekites were winning. 12 When Moses’ hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held his hands up—one on one side, one on the other—so that his hands remained steady till sunset (Exodus 17:11-12).

Somedays, I am great at submitting to God’s control over my life, but most days, I move and be as if God’s sovereignty depends on me.

My tendency to do things myself really had to change in the wake of feeling the worst symptoms of my looming cancer, a cancer diagnosis, treatment, and survivorship.

My friends did just that: held up my hands.

I advanced because they held me up in the presence of my nemesis: cancer. God’s love for me, spread amongst an entire army walking through the fire with me.

My friends cleaned my house, willingly folded my husband’s underwear, visited me in the hospital, prepared meals, dropped off takeout, traveled hundreds of miles to pamper me, gave my kids opportunities to be kids, and refused to let me win at Scrabble. They held a space for me to pour out my heart and loved me through the trauma I was experiencing. My people validated my feelings, even if they had never been in my shoes.

Then, there was the group of friends that knew what I was going through. In an effort to find people in my stage of life walking through unforeseen circumstances, I discovered an organization that focuses on coming alongside adolescents and young adults who have crossed paths with cancer. Elephants and Tea exist so that no one has to walk through cancer alone.

To say I had the best of both worlds supporting my journey is an understatement. I had an opportunity to write for Elephants and Tea last Fall and this Spring discussing the power of finding the good on a ferocious cancer journey. You will definitely want to check out the newest article “The Power of Your Herd,” and the one you’ve probably already read, “Make Gratitude the Loudest.”

No one should have to fight cancer alone. A herd of any size has immeasurable strength. If you are walking through cancer treatment or chronic health issues, please know I am praying for the one friend that will cheer for you on your good days and bad days.

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My Neck of the Woods

May is around the corner…

The planting of good things to come. I won’t see the tomatoes and strawberries, but I can tend to them and watch them grow. Enough said, right? Waiting is hard. Tending is hard. Are you in a season of tending to the things you want to produce, good fruit? Or are you in a season of blooming? Possibly both. I would love to be praying for you and celebrating you. Drop a comment or fill out this form, so we can connect.  

Wherever you are, good fruit is coming.

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My son flies the coup next school year, to say I feel like an empty nester is completely ridiculous and insensitive to those sending their grown babies off to new endeavors, but it feels like the chicks hatched, and now, they are flying. He starts preschool next year. I will be attempting to intentionally live outside the day to day before sisters are off of school for summer break.

I’d love to hear your ideas to celebrate the end of an era - transitioning from staying at home with my babes to all of the kiddos being at school the majority of the week.

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Because you are my praying crew…

May marks a milestone - a huge milestone. It’s a milestone people dream of. A milestone folks with chronic illness hold on to both lightly and tightly. May marks one year of remission. One year without evidence of disease and no treatment. One year of feeling the joy of healing. One year of mourning the reality that I am surrounded by people who haven’t had the same experience.

One year of holding…

The light and the dark.

The joy and the sadness.

The clarity and the confusion.

Deliverance and waiting.

Celebrating remission comes with an upcoming month of throwing up my hands in the CT machine, waiting, waiting, getting nauseous on the way to appointments, waiting some more at the oncologist’s office, and sitting in front of my oncologist to hear what’s next.

A moment of “throwing up my hands,” so my body can creep through the scanning machine.

A moment of “throwing up my hands,” surrendering to God’s sovereignty.

If you feel inclined to pray for my family and I, that would mean so much to me. Pray that I can embrace May with joy and freedom from the wrath of cancer. That in the midst of an angsty time, I will fix my eyes on the everyday blessings God pours out to me.

From the bottom of my heart…Thank you for being a part of my dream herd!

Encountering Jesus On the Road to Emmaus

Easter 2024. Hi, I see you. Only by your mercy God, I want to feel you.

Looking back on my childhood/teenage years, I remember the significance of Easter as a parishioner of a Catholic church. The season of Easter encompassed: specific colors, Fat Tuesday, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, Stations of the Cross, Fasting, Washing of Feet (gross everyone shares), and Resurrection Sunday. And this is just a short list of the activities I remember. I wouldn’t even say I participated or understood the formal traditions of each event. What I do know is all of these shaped my faith in my Savior. I even shared HERE how “fasting” continues to shape my life. What kid wouldn’t remember the gloriousness of bringing home a palm branch on Palm Sunday?

Yet, I needed something more. I needed freedom from the things of this world. I needed intimacy with my Savior.

Easter of 2010, I went to a non-denominational church by myself at the age of twenty-one completely unsure of my future, specifically my career as an aspiring teacher battling for zero to one teaching positions. That Easter service not only changed my eternity, it also changed the trajectory of my earthly life. I watched God unveiling His plans for my life.

I encountered God.

Recently, I binged watched my favorite Chicago T.V. shows cringing in between scenes at the monstrosity of fictional events. Yet, feeling the weight of Jesus’ death doesn’t seem to move me. In more specific words, it doesn’t move my callus heart.

I told a friend this reality. I asked her, is it hard to feel the cross because I look at the joy of Easter Sunday, or is it just the condition of my heart?

How can I cringe at the pollution of fictional plots on television, but not be phased by the final payment for the wrongs I committed and the wrongs I will commit?

While I don’t know why I am numb to the brutality of Jesus’ death for my sin, I do feel this: “The Road to Emmaus.” In the wake of a cancer diagnosis and the early stages of losing my hair to chemotherapy, the account in Luke chapter 24 after Jesus’ followers discover the empty tomb describes Jesus revealing himself to two people traveling to Emmaus. My hometown pastor put it this way, “Jesus still shows up on my road to Emmaus.” HERE is that exact sermon, if you need to hear the truth of Easter in the midst of a life not going the way you “hoped for” (Luke 24:21).

Jesus still reveals himself, so that we may have peace (Luke 24: 36).

Jesus meets me on my “Road to Emmaus.”

Jesus meets you on your “Road to Emmaus.”

Jesus, meets us on our “Road to Emmaus.” We just need to recognize Him.

Lord, have mercy on me. Help me to be more vulnerable in being emotionally present versus closed off in emotion. Soften my heart to the weight of sin I choose every single day, so that I can live differently. That I may better appreciate the people you’ve surrounded me with. Lord, break down my walls, so that I can walk free. Help me recognize you in my coming and going. Help my friend reading this notice your hand on their life. I also pray the person reading this will encounter you God. That they will find security in eternity with you, and the trajectory of their life will honor you.

Back Home

Can you believe this year’s Lent season is already more than halfway to Easter? This season of hungering for Christ is almost complete in the marking of Jesus’ torture, death, and resurrection back home.

This Easter season, there is no better reminder of my transplant anniversary than that dreary day: Valentine’s Day landing on Ash Wednesday this year. You could read more about my Valentine’s Day track record HERE.

This Lent season, I came up with an array of things I could rid myself of, so that my gaze could be on Jesus. Some of them were social media, carbs, sugar, sitting, and being negative.

Given the first anniversary of my transplant, I knew I’d have to be very gentle and graceful towards the ebbs and flows of my emotions. Therefore, instead of a Lent season focusing on depriving myself in observance of Jesus’ sacrifice and redemption, I shifted my mindset to adding Jesus into my everyday life.

As I’ve taken time to reflect on each day of last year’s transplant and hospital experience mentioned HERE, I drew my attention to hungering for God’s character.

By no mistake, God’s hand has been on the sum of anniversaries in my life falling between Love Day and Easter. The true beauty of death to life during the season of Lent.

Relationship heartbreak -> My life is so better off

Arriving in Africa -> Home and no more jet lag

We hired someone else -> Back to teaching as a sub

Winter days -> Almost 70 degrees

Single -> Engaged

“Amy, you have cancer.” -> Here comes the chemotherapy

Arrive for my transplant -> Discharge and see my kids again

This shift of unknown to God’s faithfulness tends to magnify at this time of year. They all stick out as much as the drastic rearrangement of decor in my home from blood, red to bright sunshine.

Never do I want to forget the one, true, absolute love Jesus shed with His own life for the restoration of my sins, and hope to be with Him forever.

Love Day and Easter collide at its finest!

And you can accept this love gift too. Or if you already have, you can remember this glorious gift today.

Here’s my confession. Life has felt like a blur. For most people, I think we can all feel like life before Covid is a blur, but unfortunately for my four year old son and growing daughters the past three years have been foggy. Life with chronic health issues yielded a fast pace, going from this place to that place, getting a sitter, rushing kids to bed kind of drill.

Existing and moving in the midst of fatigue, pain, sleep deprivation, and an array of inputs from the opinions of doctors and loved ones was simply where I lost myself. My focus turned into:

How can I please my family? VS -> How can I please my God?

Will this get me closer to a cure? VS -> God, you are sovereign over my life regardless of the status of my health.

Hubby, just be present with me. VS -> Holy Spirit, you see me and you are constantly with me.

How can I distract myself with business? VS -> Okay God, the quiet, slow, not moving and attacking my to do list warrant time with you.

Why would people fall away and not want to do life with my mess? VS -> You never shy away from my mess. You choose to always be with me.

I want to grow old and live forever. I don’t want my kids and husband to live without me. VS -> Have your way with my life Lord. You are good at being God. You know exactly the kind of life each of us will have.

Author and speaker Jennie Allen reminded me on her Instagram of the symbolism of Lent and confirmed the conviction: I was clenching on to my life. She cuts through the pain, “Today is Ash Wednesday. The day we collectively remember we are simply dust to dust, our lives but a breath… A perfect day to remember success here- it’s vapor, dust, breath.” Flourishing on earth and a successful stem cell transplant is a vapor. Just water meeting heat, no big deal.

I went into the Lent season gripping my future, in dismay that I had no control. “For dust you are and to dust you will return” (Genesis 3:19 NIV).

This Easter season, in light of a Lent season from home versus a hospital residency, I’m embracing the gift of gold He gives me EVERYDAY.

2-14-23 to 3-3-23, thank you for healing my body. I don’t miss you.

2-14-24 to 3-3-24, God you showed up a year ago, and you continue to show up!

Today’s Gold:  Eventually being at home with Jesus, but until then, snuggled up with my crew.

Our Family’s Favorite Easter Traditions:

Resurrection Egg countdown to Easter - We countdown to Easter with a dozen symbols that remind us of the Easter story. I hide an egg each day and it’s our favorite adult and kid friendly way to dig deeper into the meaning of Easter.

Washing of Feet - Just like Jesus washed His disciples feet, we wash one another’s feet. If we have loved ones over, we wash their feet. If we fought earlier that day, we still wash each other’s feet. We humbly wash despite reality, and remember to extend love, service, and forgiveness to the people around us.

Decorating Eggs - There’s no greater holiday pastime than convincing myself I will finally be able to add words to a decorated egg.

What part of Lent is impactful for you? I’d love to know some of your favorite Easter traditions too!

20-24

Disclaimer: This writing might be triggering for someone overcoming grief and loss. It is not my intention to add pain to one’s life, but help one see good things come from hard seasons. My heart aches for those whose heart breaks because of unexpected loss.

I’m a grown woman, celebrating what my bone marrow transplant nurse calls, “My second birthday.” Little does she know, celebrations aren’t my thing. Bringing attention to myself is surely not my thing. Plus, this regeneration of my cells doesn’t compare to the new birth in Christ I experienced fourteen years ago.

Okay fine. Today is one out of three monumental days (everyday deserves this praise) out of the year, I get to remember and reflect on the blessing of God not being done with me.

Today, I reflected on my transplant and the difference a year makes.

A year ago today, sadness overwhelmed my kids as we only talked through FaceTime.

Today, I got them up and out the door before the bus pulled up.

A year ago today, I was attached to a heart monitor.

Today, I closed a chapter on pelvic therapy because cancer cells wrecked havoc for way too long.

A year ago today, I was flooded with texts and prayers.

Today, I had an audience of one.

A year ago, my hubby fetched me hospital cafeteria french fries for a late night snack.

Today, I whipped up school lunches and the kids’ favorite pasta and garlic bread for dinner.

Not being able to shake the concept of my bone marrow transplant being like an additional birthday, I wrote in my journal, “If birth precedes death, then death also precedes birth.” Like Lazarus coming out of his grave, death preceded his new life. Here’s what the Bible says about Lazarus coming back to life (John 11:43-44)…

43 “Jesus called in a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out!’”

44 “The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face.

Jesus said to them, ‘Take off the grave clothes and let him go.’”

What a beautiful reminder on a heavy day like today to take off those “grave clothes” of mine. That the death of cancer inside of me, and God’s healing on my life has fresh hope and a renewed purpose.

This day, a year ago, was called “day zero.”

Each inpatient chemotherapy day leading up to the transplant was marked with a negative number. Progressively getting closer to transplant day, -6, -5, -4, -3, -2, -1. The grueling week that finally brought on “day zero.” A new slate and opportunity to gain ground. I counted up the days until I’d be home with my family and a little further out of the woods. +1, +2, +3, +4, and so on.

Today marks +365.

365 days of physical, emotional, and spiritual healing and renewal.

A day worth celebrating because even against my own efforts, my body is far more mature than last year.

If this beautiful design by my daughter doesn’t seal the day, I don’t know what does. I love me some good number sequences, do you?

February Feels

If a Window Could Say 1,000 Words 

I looked out my window, the snow hadn’t started yet. Would it come at all? Would it complicate my husband’s arrival for my discharge? Every couple hours the babe woke up to tummy grumbles, and I gazed out my window waiting for the snow to fall. 

The dark sky illuminated by lamp posts highlighted the flakes beginning to fall. As daylight began to peak through the room, my gaze cut through the pouring of snow and onto the building across from the hospital. 

The building directly across from my room, I knew of it, but I didn't know a thing about it. Sure, I’d been there before to survey a breastfeeding infection gone wrong with my middle child. Come to find out, I had no concept as to what that cancer building represented. 

I held my newly arrived babe, and waited for my hubby to pick us up. I looked out that window and praised God for a healthy life. One that the people across the street from my room were ferociously fighting for. 

Fast forward three years to the day, I admitted myself for my stem cell transplant, and my room had the same exact view. Nonetheless, I knew exactly what was beaming across the street. 

The place I turned into a radioactive hazard. 

The machine that decided my cancer was stage four, from my neck to my sacrum. 

The office of my oncologist. 

The place my kiddos came with me to get my white blood cell boost shot.

My newfound bestie and confidant Sarah injected me with poison and embraced me with a hug. 

The best parking garage in the world because of its bright lights and greenery.

It’s the place my hubby met me, sat with me, and swept me out of my wheelchair after a day's worth of chemo. 

The place my hubby would fight my oncologist to do better. 

The crevices spread throughout the building where I attempted to make sense of my upside down world and fall short. 

What’s more, God knows all too well, if it was the only time, I’d embrace my kids jumping for my gaze completely out of reach. 

Avoiding Nausea or a Lack Thereof 

This year, it was my mission to avoid being at the hospital on Valentine’s Day. Better yet, it was on my agenda to redeem a day that has captured a lot of heartbreak in my life.

Humiliation 

Breakups

Career Rejection

Career Changes

Foreign Travels 

Winter Weather and a Broken Furnace

Mostly, an expensive night's stay alone with terrible room service, was the thread I hoped would come to an end. Three out of the last four February fourteenths were just that: insurance charges and hospital cafeteria food. A cesarean delivery, NICU stay, a lung biopsy performed by a thoracic surgeon, and inpatient chemotherapy to kickoff a stem cell transplant were all reasons this year’s superficial holiday would be all things ruby red. 

I dreamed of getting out and doing something fun that my hubby and I never do: skiing, or rollerblading. However, I quickly realized both of those could potentially warrant a hospital visit. So, we set our sights way out there and dreamed of life on the water at the nearby boat show. 

Figuratively speaking, I didn’t even avoid nausea! 

Redeeming What Was Stolen 

With a babysitter set a month in advance, and the hopes for a fun time outside of reality and the boundaries of a hospital alarm bracelet, we ate a quick dinner and immersed ourselves in living on a boat. Luckily, all of the boats were outside of our school district, and the ability for my body to feel the slightest waves allowed us to leave with our money in hand. 

I wanted this date to be perfect. Honestly, I had high expectations to be free of fasting liquids and foods, and tearing up my husband and kids’ lives. Walking around the event space, I had seen exactly what God had done. He impressed on me the sacrifice my husband had made all those years. 

That’s what Valentine’s Day evolved into. Not a measure of love, but the immense sacrifice my husband has made between raising children and overcoming cancer. 

The exact location where the boat show took place, was the spot my hubby served me wearing a mask against all of his might because he didn’t want to expose my chemo whelmed body to the masses of people he would interact with at the home show he participated in for work.  

It was the spot he previously walked the aisles of viewing his wife’s dream of a camper and not knowing if she’d survive long enough to one day enjoy it. 

It was the spot where he prepared his team’s booth for the upcoming home show, and abandoned his passion to meet customers over the span of four days because his wife was in isolation. (Thank you God for an employer that is more like family. A place Tim is valued and poured on with grace in the midst of treading water in the cancer pool: appointments, school transportation, and hospitalizations.)

God’s ultimate sacrifice when He sent His son to die on the cross for our sin and the things that break our heart is the greatest redemption story of all. The one true love story. “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13 NIV). 

Love day magnified the depths of my soul and the aches of my heart. Where I’ve been, and where I was going. Sometimes, it didn’t match up with my desirable life goals. At the same time, the cries of my heart projected the trajectory of my life. 

Here’s to many years of life changing February fourteenths! 

“No More Lives Torn Apart”

The season was festive, but my heart was bare. The climb to the top was far off. I had no clue what next year would bring.

I wrote this a year ago.

It’s been an effort to reframe what Christmas looks like this year. The staying home part is a bummer, but isn’t the worst either. The four rounds of chemotherapy and handful of doctor appointments this month is not very festive. But embracing the real reason for Christmas has been timely and challenging. 

Accepting the gift of the miracle of Jesus’ birth this season is so different being in need of God’s supernatural power. I’m confident, I’m not the only one who feels like they are at battle or facing something tough this Christmas. I’m believing for you, that there is more to your Christmas than the unwanted part.

Somehow, this is just the way life unfolds. While my health completely turned around, I can’t help but think of the loved ones who are experiencing Christmas differently this year. 

Really, who puts it better than Amy Grant? In her song, “Grown-Up Christmas List,” she goes on to say these earth shattering, baby crying in the manger words, “No More Lives Torn Apart.” 

As I grow up or become more seasoned to the reality of the dark and light of this world, my priorities for receiving gifts have changed. My Christmas list as a kid and an adult have evolved over the years. They ranged from toys I still hadn’t outgrown, to everyday necessities. To my husband’s dismay, after riding the cancer wave, there’s really only one thing I want, “No More Lives Torn Apart.” Not something he can wrap and put under the tree at all. 

The darkness of the world was so dense. Humanity torn apart by sin. Yet, God didn’t want our lives to self-destruct. He sent His perfect light into the world, a babe in a manger Jesus. 

This past weekend, my daughter’s ballet class performed to the music “The Greatest Love,” by Tori Harper. The most profound part of the dance was the timing of the motions that went with the following lyrics: 

The greatest love came for us

And we threw Him in the cold

Even so, He chose to come

I am so grateful, “Even so, He chose to come.” He came to be the light of the world (John 8:12). 

This Christmas, my hope is to embrace the baby I throw in the cold. That in welcoming His light this season, and in all my days to come, I just might receive the gift of, “No more lives torn apart.” 

Heavenly Father, thank you for lighting up my own darkness with your immeasurable light. Even when I feel like my life is in shambles, it is not. You hold it all together. 

Merry Christmas!

Gratitude Hasn’t Been the Loudest

So I throw up my hands

And praise You again and again

'Cause all that I have is a hallelujah

Hallelujah

Feet first, the sliding table moves through the device that has the power to permit seasons of pain, waiting, trauma, fear, joy, grief, and peace. And those are only a few of the many emotions and implications of any scan that serves the purpose of lighting up inconsistencies. 

Automatically, I sing Brandon Lake’s “Gratitude,” following the nurse's instructions to expose my body. I oblige to her request, “Put your hands above your head.” 

So I throw up my hands

And praise You again and again

'Cause all that I have is a hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hands go up, praise goes out, and the horror of what could be, flees. 

At the moment, I have scans every six months as opposed to three months. Somehow, my six month routine scans can’t be the only time I throw up my hands in surrender and praise my Heavenly Father. 

The horror of the unknown must continue to flee. 

One of my new favorite podcasters Alisa DiLorenzo puts words to the meaning of gratitude that resonate with me. She alludes to gratitude meaning an awareness of what one has received. I love that her version of gratitude isn’t attached to feeling happy or content. It’s simply an awareness. 

One thing I am fully aware of is the shame I felt for knowing the value of gratitude and neglecting its purpose because life hadn’t been peachy. Embarrassed by the grumbling life I was leading, despite God healing my cancer, I refrained from sharing my first published article. The irony of not sharing this piece: it’s simply called, “Make Gratitude the Loudest.” 

The non-profit, young adult cancer group Elephants and Tea sent me to Boston to read this article in their Words Matter magazine.

At the event, I didn’t read straight out of the magazine because the print was too tiny. Instead, I had a copy of the article in larger font. When reading my article, I froze not knowing the name of the article I would go on to share. 

I was unable to lay hands on “Make Gratitude the Loudest.” 

Come to find out that’s exactly what has happened in this season of remission, living amongst the sick, and facing the implications of an emotional, physical, and spiritually taxing, traumatic three years. 

Gratitude is missing. 

The dichotomy of two worlds is knocking at my door: the good and the bad, the light and the darkness, the mountaintops and valleys, the highs and the lows, good times and traumatic times. I share more on this in my previous blog here. 

If gratitude is an awareness or the position of my heart’s ability to notice the good, then surely gratitude can soften my heart and change my outlook. The words of praise on my lips surrender to The Great Orchestrator. The One who is worthy of my praise.   

This fall, in more ways than one, I was reminded of the time Jesus healed ten people consumed with leprosy (Luke 17:11-19 NIV). Ten people set free. My attention was drawn not to the healing, but to the person who left Jesus’ presence healed and well. Nine lepers healed. One leper healed, full of faith, and well. 

The trajectory of the one leper’s life: well – healthy, strong, shrewd, and advantageous (thanks to a quick Google search).  

Lucky for us, the same thing that separated the one leper from the other nine lepers is accessible to us today. 

One leper returned to Jesus with a grateful heart of praise. Scripture from the Bible says, “One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan. Jesus asked, ‘Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?’ Then he said to him, ‘Rise and go; your faith has made you well’” (Luke 17:15-19 NIV).

Praising God unleashes us to not just be aware of what we’ve received, but sets us apart. We become advantageous no matter where our story has landed us. 

Whatever uncleanliness, grief, pain, sorrow, or awful circumstance you are facing, God has the power to make you healed and well.

Brandon Lake continues the song declaring, 

I've got one response

I've got just one move

With my arm stretched wide

I will worship You

Moving in the valley is a mountain in itself. It is lonely, confusing, dark, and overwhelming. Simply torture. 

Make gratitude your “move” today. 

Here’s to remembering, “Make gratitude the loudest!”

Follow me on Instagram and Facebook to see photos from my holiday.

Credit: Brandon Lake’s “Gratitude”

Avoiding the bumpy Road

My son peeked around the driver seat, and squealed, “Mom, go the bumpy road.” Ignoring his request, I turned left, finding my breath in the smooth pavement. Who knew I could escalate a situation by simply getting on with my day and heading home versus going straight and taking “the bumpy road.” 

Quickly, I recalled a conversation with my good friend just ten minutes before this “fork in the road.” Convicted, I searched for another dirt road to make his day. Hopefully, I’d reap the benefits of him being better regulated after all that extra vibration of the dirt road. 

Turning down the next dirt road, his eyes sparkled as he let out his joyful screech. 

Immediately, my loss of control flew out the window. 

I’ve lost control like this before. 

The divots in the road have bounced my insides up and down, setting me off balance. It was enough jerking for the contents of my stomach to come out of my mouth. Just ask my sister. Well in this particular case, I was surrounded by people I didn’t know very well. I was on a mission trip in Nairobi, Kenya. The potholes, brick roads, and the savannah’s winding roads just about tortured me. 

My new found friend rubbed my back and held me close to help me center myself on the dusty, three hour adventure to our service project in the bare, vast open road of Kenya. 

God provided comfort when I had no sense of control.

A bump away from blowout. 

Terrified of blowing out my tire, the squeal of the tires going up and over the gashes in the road reminded me of how this season of survivorship feels.

My summer consisted of these highs and lows, me running from what cancer had stolen from me. I ran from my hobbies, friends, and family. 

I tried avoiding the blowout. Between my emotions, physical healing, hormones tanking, facing the realities of new beginnings, and unregulated kids, I felt like I was stuck on the side of the road figuring out how to change my flat tire. 

Recently, my family and friends joined me in a cancer event supporting the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Caught between two worlds, the light of the world and the darkness that so easily entangles, I searched to do just that: light up the darkness of cancer. 

Carrying the light of healing doesn’t negate my grandma’s unconsciousness, the loss my best friends experienced, my friend in active treatment, and the loved ones on the verge of beginning treatment. With darkness lurking, what a great reminder: a small amount of light actually illuminates in the deep black of the night.    

Is moving forward possible, if I’m just a bump away from a blowout? 

In my rear view mirror, there he was having the time of his life, bumping up and down. I also couldn’t help but notice my obscured view through the dusty, rear window. 

In the thick of life, it’s hard to see how far I've come through that filthy rear window. It’s hard to feel like I am carrying even an ounce of hope and light in this broken world. 

The gift of seeing clearly on the bumpy road, isn’t that the antidote? Finding gold in the midst of fear and suffering leads to a life lived out to the full. 

When I went to Boston for a young adult cancer event, I was blown away by the obstacles my peers have had to endure through their cancer. Standing before them, I shared the importance of “Making Gratitude the Loudest.” 

Simply gratitude. My Heavenly Father says just that, “In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18)

So, many of you have ventured on this journey of overcoming cancer with me. Recently, you prayed and believed big things for me on my trip to Boston. I shared the reason for that trip here. To say it plainly, I’ve neglected sharing the highlights of this trip and my first published piece of writing. 

I have not been making gratitude the loudest.

Staring through my filthy rear window, I am overwhelmed: lacking focus, overscheduling my time, prioritizing temporary things of this world, and sulking in the cards I’ve been dealt. My whole being feeling out of control.

Jesus declares to His disciples the reality of hardships.

Avoiding getting dirty isn’t an option. 

Obsessing over cleaning up the house, stuffing my kids’ emotions, and writing off my husband, I am full of pride. I don’t want to get dirty. My son thinks the dirtier the van gets the better. At the same time, I cringe at the thought of moving forward wearing the filth. The shame and fear I dress myself in are so much more comfortable than the possibilities that lie ahead. 

Confession: I utilize my spending money on a monthly car wash membership. It would be a sensible expense if I lived off of a dusty road or frequently traveled the highway. Yet, I’m in the clean vehicle pulling up to the carwash to get a good rinse. 

Am I even worthy of a carwash? 

The bumpy road is messy. I’ve got loads of baggage riding shotgun: unmet expectations, hurt, rejection, fear, trauma, shame, control, obsessiveness, avoidance, and darkness tucked tightly inside of me. All of which, I’ve endured through cancer, and in some instances, my entire life. 

If only the baggage of cancer: shedding hair, menopause, scans, medication, pelvic floor pain, depression, and trauma disappeared like the cancer cells did with those toxic chemotherapy drugs. 

Fortunately for each of us, our Creator calls us His very good work and cleanses us of our pasts and present better than any chemotherapy drugs. Like a filthy van needing a good wash, Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection gives us hope and a future with God. 

My pastor put it this way, “If you’re stuck in your past, you can never walk into your future…You have a huge windshield up here because what matters most is where you’re going and what’s in front of you. Could you imagine if I tried to leave my house and drive all the way to work only looking in the rear view mirror?” Rehearsing the pain will only keep me from the future God has for me. 

Are you in need of a carwash? 

That deep cleansing of our souls is available for us today. The Bible says, “If you declare with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved.” (Romans 10:9-10) If you declared that, please let me know here. 

To my son’s dismay the bumpy road ended. Praise God!

My son and I landed far off the path we were originally on.

I shared in my last update, the Israelites discomfort with their far from direct route to the Promised Land. How refreshing that God is still at work on the roundabout way, so that he gets all the glory and praise.

What detour have you been on in the past or recently? I’d love to see how God is moving on your detour here. 

By the grace of God, today’s bumpy road trip set the trajectory for my interactions with my son the rest of the day. 

My prayer is that you will find hope that the bumpy road will come to an end. Maybe not right now, or even here on earth, but if we allow God to be in the driver seat, the road will smooth out, and He will eventually redeem the bumpy road. God is worthy of our trust in Him.  

Let’s fix our gaze on the GOOD He is doing on our bumpy journey. Simply glancing at the grime behind me, I can see the gold God provided in my past and the gold He is using to pave my future; even if it's a little bumpy. 

P.S. Special thanks to Cocomelon for providing me the opportunity to get back on the horse and write.