Faith, Family, Hope, Personal Reflection, Prayer

We Don’t Know

I don’t want to write this post. I don’t feel like writing it.

I thought about writing it immediately after reading my sister’s message Friday night. I thought about writing it first thing Saturday morning, when I saw other family members’ social media posts. I wrote it in my head while I made breakfast for my kids. Still, I avoided sitting down at my computer and typing it out. Instead, I scrawled out some notes I didn’t want to lose, and went for a run.

I ran and I thought.

I thought about what I’ll feel toward God if the cancer takes my sister in the end. I thought about the anger I’ll experience. Would I feel it toward Him? Toward everything? Or maybe toward nothing, a fiery arrow of anger with no target for release?

I thought about timing, wishing pointlessly that I could tell God my preferences and they’d be taken into account with weight equal to His wisdom. Timing. If the cancer has returned, if her remission is slipping away, why is it happening during a pandemic? When we can’t be with each other? When hospital stays are endured alone, with no visitors? Timing. Her second grandchild is on the way. Growing, developing, taking shape in her daughter’s womb. A gift. A rainbow baby. I have some things to say to Him about timing.

This post sat in my head the remainder of yesterday but I knew I needed to write it this morning. Sunday morning, barren of congregations gathered to worship and pray as one. This is exactly when I should write it.

The reason to write is simple: to ask all of you to pray for my sister’s healing from lymphoma. Simple, and something I’ve done several times already. Why the avoidance, then?

I didn’t want to write it because it feels too much like admitting defeat. Feelings can lie though. They’re masters at it. Asking for prayers is not admitting defeat. It’s admitting faith.

Due to 35 days straight of low grade fevers, and being bedridden for much of that time, they have tested Cheryl for any possible explanation for her symptoms. The only one reasonably left is that the cancer is relapsing. The doctors have admitted this to be the case and she will undergo new scans and biopsies to check the truth of it.

We don’t know yet if the cancer is growing again.

We don’t know yet if God has a miracle for Cheryl.

I’m going to stop getting ahead of myself and admit that just as much as I don’t know the former, I don’t know the latter either. So, I ask you to pray. I ask you to believe in your prayers. I’ll do the same.

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Cheryl and her husband Tom, March 2020
Fiction, Personal Reflection, Writing

Story Surprises

This morning, in amongst my notifications of friends’ reactions and comments, I had a pesky little reminder from Facebook that it’d “been a while” since I posted anything on my author page. Now, I’m not too keen on paying any attention to those things, but this one bothered me a bit.

What it really did was remind me that I haven’t written any new stories for you all in a while. A long while. Here’s the thing though: I tried! I really tried.

A week ago, I had what felt like a splendid idea for a story. Maybe a quick flash fiction story that would only take a day or two to write and polish and share with you. Maybe a multi-part short story. Either way, I was sure I’d have a new story to post for my readers. So, I got started.

Then something happened. Two paragraphs into this little tale, it hit me. I was not writing a new short story. I was writing a game-changing missing piece in the plot and character development of my novel. I was stunned. I stared at the screen, my fingers resting on the keyboard, and questioned if it was only wishful thinking.

It wasn’t. It was perfect. It answered questions and propelled the story forward in ways I’d been struggling to identify.

Sometimes a story, and especially a character, has to reveal itself to its writer. That seems strange, I know. I’m the one who created the character. I’m the one who thought of the story. How can I be completely surprised by it? That’s the nature of writing fiction though. In fact, it’s become something I look for now (and look forward to). Having a piece of the plot or character development take me by surprise is a sign that the story is working, that it’s worth writing. It’s a sign of life. When there are no surprises, no a-ha moments that I didn’t see coming, there is a flatness to the characters and a mediocrity to the plot.

So, you have my sincerest apologies for the lack of new fiction posted here on this site. I do hope to write something new for you soon. However, I also offer the bit of brightness that the first draft of my second novel is progressing much better than it was before a week ago.

Until I hit on a new idea, if you need a little short fiction in your life, maybe you will find something you haven’t read yet (or forgot that you already read (or enjoyed enough to reread)) amongst the flash fiction and short stories already gathered here.

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Advent, Christmas, Faith, Family, Hope, Personal Reflection, Prayer

God Does Not Sleep

Christmas doesn’t always bring a person home to a warm hearth and an idyllic pause in the strife of our days.

I typically post only on Facebook about my sister Cheryl’s battle with aggressive, advanced lymphoma. Periodically, I have asked for prayers and support from family and friends while sharing the current status of the fight. The nature of the battle now brings me here, to a broader collection of family, friends, acquaintances, and strangers.

Cheryl will spend Christmas at the Mayo Clinic hospital in Rochester, MN. Under the superb care of their doctors and nurses, she and her beloved husband Tom are awaiting the delivery of her genetically modified T Cells to be transplanted back into her ailing body. These cells, with newly gained superpowers, will try their hardest to attack the cancer cells that have spread and grown in recent months. She has literally been sustained this month by chemotherapy and steroid treatments, biding her time until the T Cells are ready.

As Christmas, that must joyous of celebrations, approaches, the only gift my faithful sister hopes for is life.

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Cheryl, her husband Tom, and their children Catrina and Ryan, 12/14/19

I can’t write that without tears streaming down my face. At least once a day, I let the tears fall and plead with God to restore Cheryl to health and vitality. I release the valve for a few moments and allow the sadness, anger, and feeble hope to rise to the surface. Cheryl’s warrior spirit has taught every member of my family the astounding depth of true faith and strength that come from a divine source.

From-the-heart honesty: I don’t want any more lessons. I want healing. I want Cheryl to land on the right side of the statistics and odds. The only thing I want us to learn in the weeks to come is that miracles do happen.

Please add your prayers to mine. I rest in this: God does not sleep. He does not look away. He does not set us down from our place in His hands.

I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From whence does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.

 

He will not let your foot be moved,
he who keeps you will not slumber.
Behold, he who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

 

The Lord is your keeper;
the Lord is your shade
on your right hand.
The sun shall not smite you by day,
nor the moon by night.

 

The Lord will keep you from all evil;
he will keep your life.
The Lord will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time forth and for evermore.

Psalm 121

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Cheryl, me, and my children Annabelle and Timothy, 11/24/19
Faith, Family, Hope, Personal Reflection, Prayer

Run Harder

I ran this one for Cheryl. On my drive to the 10k trail race I ran this morning, I made up my mind to dedicate the run to my sister.

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Let me tell you about Cheryl.

Cheryl is my oldest sister. She is a beautiful, generous, resilient rock star of a woman. She is a bottomless well of faith. Three times, Cheryl has come out victorious against cancer. Today, she is a patient at Mayo Clinic in her fourth battle. Her hardest battle. I’ve witnessed the physical misery, the sadness, and the loneliness for home as she spends more strings of days in a hospital than outside it. I’ve watched the decisions to fight, to believe, and to hope. I have seen real faith.

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So, this morning, I set the purpose in my heart to run for Cheryl. I kept her in my thoughts as I waited at the starting line with 110 other people about to run 6.2 miles through the woods. As we all headed up the first hill, a steep one right after the start, I said a prayer for her. When I ran through easier stretches along meadows, enjoying the sun-soaked fall colors, I prayed for her to have easier days. While I trudged up the frequent hills on the trail, breathing hard and wanting to walk, I thought of my warrior sister fighting for her life and I said to myself, “Run harder.”

Eventually, I crossed the finish line. I felt strong, much stronger than when I ran the same race last year. My body surged with energy and I smiled as I reached the bottom of the last hill with the finish line only yards away. When I crossed that finish line though, I nearly broke down. I felt the tears pressing against my eyes, trying to escape. I felt my breathless lungs become even more constricted as a sob rose up in my throat. Then I saw a coworker standing with other finishers, drinking their water and eating their bananas, as we all do at the end of a race. I stepped over to where she was and exchanged a high-five with a smile and a compliment to her race. And I was ok. The very brief conversation made that sob dissolve and those tears retreat. I was relieved to save my crying for later, when I was alone with my thoughts.

Today, I wore the Warrior shirt designed by friends of Cheryl to support her and her family, and there were a handful of times that I glanced down at the word across my front and thought, “Run harder.” Run like Cheryl fights. Run like Cheryl believes and hopes. Run harder.

“But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,
they shall mount up with wings like eagles,
they shall run and not be weary,
they shall walk and not faint.”

Isaiah 40:31, RSV

Books, Gratitude, Personal Reflection, The Hidden Legacy, Writing

Oh, What a Day!

My collection of author-life experiences is limited. Growing, thank goodness, but still limited. It could be my lingering newbie status that makes the events of last Tuesday so edifying. Or maybe, no matter how long I’m on this adventure of establishing myself as an author, the shine will never wear off opportunities like these.

After dropping my kids off at school, I rushed up the rainy freeway to Manitowoc for my first radio interview! I walked into the building eager but nervous. Craig at WCUB 980 AM set me at ease though. Once we got rolling, the nervousness evaporated and I felt only the rightness of donning my author hat as I told listeners about The Hidden Legacy. You can listen to the podcast of my interview here. I wasn’t embarrassed while listening to it afterward, so I’m calling it a genuine win!

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The primary reason I had the opportunity to interview on WCUB was to promote my author visit to the Manitowoc Public Library on that same day. That’s right! I didn’t have to remove that author hat after the interview. I kept it in place as I spent an hour with readers at the library. In the previous months, the library quite generously acquired about twenty copies of The Hidden Legacy and chose it for September’s “Morning Book Talk.” Rendering me both humbled and proud, I was told by the facilitor of the group that all twenty copies were checked out! I still can’t state that without grinning.

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Ten individuals who had read the novel, along with Therese (the wonderful and helpful facilitator) and me, enjoyed a thorough discussion of the book, as well as my writing process. It was a dynamic, non-stop conversation that was the stuff of legit author-life. The group had numerous questions for me (we didn’t even touch the prepared discussion questions), and it was a special privilege to hear a few of them share their favorite parts of The Hidden Legacy.

I’ll wrap up this joyful post with a thank you to WCUB 980 AM and Craig on “The Breakfast Club” morning show for the chance to interview. An even bigger thanks goes to the Manitowoc Public Library for their ongoing support of authors and their promotion of literary arts.

Next up, Plymouth Public Library on September 23rd at 6 p.m. See you there, readers!

Faith, Family, Gratitude, Personal Reflection

Plans and the Preposterousness of Them

I made a lot of plans for August. Confidently, I planned. It all seemed so reasonable. It felt good.

#1 was returning to a fitness routine. After four weeks, the mild back injury I’d been not-so-patiently waiting to heal was cleared up. I joyously began easing back into running and strength workouts. I set a goal to exercise in some manner every day of the month of August.

Secondly, I set up a giveaway to celebrate the anniversary of the release of The Hidden Legacy. I pledged to readers to spend the week sharing tidbits about my experiences in the past year.

I plotted (pun intended) novel-writing plans.

I signed up my son and myself for a 5k fun run.

I bought tickets to attend a concert this week with my husband.

I planned. And God said, “Nope.”

Sometimes my plans align pretty well with what He has in mind. Other times, God shakes His wise head and plays the divine intervention card.

This time the card came in the form of appendicitis and an appendectomy. What started as (supposedly) some bad indigestion warped into terribly painful stomach cramps. After a full night of sickness of which I’ll spare you the details, it took until Saturday morning to identify that the pain was gradually intensifying on the right half of my abdomen. Cue the alarm bells!

Urgent Care, E.R., surgery, recovery, and now home, thankfully, sans appendix.

Plans change.

I won’t pretend I’m not frustrated. Or disappointed. Or sad. This simply isn’t how I wanted the last weeks of summer to look. When I’m tempted to feel sorry for myself though, I remember that my sister had surgery on the same day and it’s her fifth hospital stay in a month. I remember that unlike the woman screaming in pain on the other side of the E.R. exam room but insisting she couldn’t have painkillers due to a past addiction, I’m able to control the pain with strong medication. I remember that I have a husband who will do anything for my wellbeing, and a large family who rallied in prayer for me all weekend. I remember the Cross and the holy wounds. I remember this is minor and temporary, and “after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, establish, and strengthen you” (1 Peter 5:10).

Easter, Family, Gratitude, Midwest, Motherhood, Personal Reflection

Home Again

IMG_20190425_142050_875.jpgThis is home. Where I spent my first 18 years. Where I fumbled my way through childhood and teenage ups and downs. Where I witnessed my six older siblings leading the way. Where my parents still reside, ready to feed us, talk Jesus, and start a 1000 piece puzzle any time we’re inclined. I treasure any opportunity to bring my children there so they can stockpile experiences and memories of the place. I’m well aware the opportunities will run out one day. I prefer not to think on that except to let it remind me of the value of those visits.

The kids ask multiple times a week when we’ll return. Well, not so much when we will return. They love more than anything to stay with Grandma and Papa on their own, without me or their dad. And I love allowing them to do so. I love their independence. I love their complete confidence that they will be happy and safe and cared for while they are with their grandparents. I frequently wish that my husband’s parents lived within a few hours drive too, so the kids could be collecting similar experiences with them.

We spent Easter Sunday at my parents’ home and the day was everything beautiful. It began with Mass at my childhood parish. Afterward, I cooked with my mom to serve a delicious dinner at the table that has gathered up our family and friends for countless meals. (Seriously, I didn’t want to stop eating. It was so good.) Then we spent a while soaking in the springtime sunshine.

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My fifteen-year-old stepson, who lives with his mother in a neighboring town, joined us for the afternoon too. Any chance to see the younger two excitedly enjoy time with their older brother is a heart-strengthening treat. Our family of five plus my father walked down the one road that I know better than any other road on this earth. We marveled at how high the creek is now that the snow has melted. We visited my grandparents’ former farm with its collapsing old barns. Lastly, we lingered at the pond, throwing rocks to splash in the water while I remembered all the summer afternoons spent wandering there and the winter days of ice skating on its hardened surface. It was one of those days when I couldn’t overlook my blessings even if I tried.

My people will live in peaceful country, in secure dwellings and quiet resting places. Isaiah 32:18