Expectations

Mom (expecting my youngest sister), my brother, sisters and I (on the pony)

I remember one Christmas many years ago. I was maybe a young teen at the time. We had opened presents, always a huge event with five kids, and I spotted an extra sweatshirt in my brother's pile. I'm not sure how I knew it was extra, but my mom was very careful about making sure we all had the same number of gifts. A twinge of jealousy marred my happiness of a moment ago. I expected everyone to have the same amount of items, so why does my brother have an extra one, I wondered silently.

I found out later that my sister, taking the amount we were given to buy small gifts for our siblings, found an extraordinary deal on the sweatshirt and bought it for my brother instead of the small toy or candy that we usually got for each other. This impacted me so much that even though the details of the rest of the day are blurred, I remember the extra shirt as if it were yesterday. I also cringe at my reaction, the shallowness that I sometimes still struggle with.

How often do our expectations, and often misunderstandings, mess up what could have been a fabulous day?

Unexpected snow when I don't have to be anywhere is my favorite

I wrote earlier about how excited I was about spending the early morning of Black Friday with my daughter, perhaps our last time since it looks likely that she will go out of state to college next year.

While I did spend a few hours with her, it wasn't anything like I expected or hoped for. She asked if it was okay for her to go earlier with a few of her friends who were trying to capture the last of the Thanksgiving Day sales. I refuse to shop on Thanksgiving Day, but Becca thought it would be fun to go with her friends, especially since we were only watching a movie. We would meet up whatever time I decided to go. She asked if it was okay.

I looked at my 18 year old daughter, wanting to appease me but eager to hang out in the middle of the night in a mall with her friends. It would be her last chance to spend Black Friday with these friends, too. As a mom, I know how important family is, but as a teen, she is all about her friends. I get this. I was like that, too.

I told her to go. Make good decisions, be safe, have fun.

That morning, about 3, I made the cold, dark drive by myself, still thankful for the lack of traffic. I parked in the first row near the main entrance. We connected. She was exhausted. Her friend who happens to be a boy hung out with us, too.

It wasn't what I expected, but I knew I had a choice. I would make the most of this moment, this time, and throw away any expectations from past years.

We shopped. I bought them a Cinnabon, I had Starbucks. We usually had Starbucks together. It was different this year because she already had a mocha before I came.

Instead of wandering the mall, we went to specific shops and left after only a couple of hours. I had energy to drive to Old Navy, but Becca was fading fast. They stayed in the car while I ran in to find a sweatshirt for Ben.

We drove home while it was still dark with very little traffic. No extra stops at Fred Meyer. No chasing down a sale at as many stores as possible.

We still made a memory.

Living in the moment means letting go of expectations, what should have been, what I wished was. God has thrown curveballs into my life, like with the sudden breast cancer diagnosis. If I held onto my expectations of what I hoped life was, what I wished I hadn't needed to think about, what I never wanted to endure, I would have missed out on the blessings of the moment, of seeing God in the small things.

Living life in the present is like that.

I think of Mary, just a teenager, engaged to a special man. Her life mapped out.

Then suddenly an angel appears. Your plans will be changed abruptly. You will give birth to a son who will be called Jesus who will become your Savior.

Mary answers, "I am the Lord's servant. May your word to me be fulfilled." (Luke 1:38).

If Mary kept hold of her expectations, she would have missed out on this blessing. Was it not a blessing laced with tremendous difficulties? Yes, we can only imagine all the hardships she faced.

Yet her letting go of expectations, living in the moment, being willing to do as God asked her, opened up the means for Jesus to come to earth, offering Himself as our greatest blessing.

In our days, it's easy to chase after things that don't matter. We have our expectations of what is fair or important.

But what if the interruption, how we react to a change of plans, how we let God lead, is the most important thing for us to see?

Because the Jews were looking for their expected messiah, and they missed the Bethlehem morning, the infant wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger. They missed Jesus.

This Christmas, don't let expectations get in the way of Jesus. Be open to living now, eyes wide open, looking for what God has in store.

Black Friday

I can't wait to go Black Friday shopping.

I'm not a shopper. I avoid crowds like a pregnant woman avoids a deep, cushy couch.

So, what gives? Why am I excited about going out shopping in the wee hours of the morning this Friday?

Because every year I carve out this day to spend with my daughter.

It all started one innocent November when Becca was about 12. My in-laws were moving to the east coast, and our traditional Thanksgiving with family was upended.

A friend of mine invited us to join her and her girls for early morning shopping. At first I turned her down. "Um, no thanks. I went out once on a Black Friday and I told Walt to promise to never let me go out again!"

We were walking the parking lot at our homeschool co-op, and as we walked, my mind began to process this idea. What if we go for the experience, to hang out with our friends and not plan on shopping? What if I treated it as an adventure and not a shopping trip? If we stumble onto a sale, we could partake, but we won't route out the best sales from the ads, trying to navigate crowds for the best promotions, all of which I failed at at previously. What if I looked at this as something Becca and I could do together?

At the end of the loop, I started liking this idea. Without family in town to celebrate holidays, we could start a new tradition. Becca, who loves the mall, probably thought she opened an early Christmas present when I told her our plans.

So on the day after Thanksgiving, we arrived at JC Penneys at 4 a.m. to pick up a free ornament. We hung out with friends at Starbucks, and wandered the mall. We came home with a few packages but mostly memories.

Part of the group that first Black Friday

We even went out on Black Friday in 2012 when I was in the middle of radiation treatment. Every day, excluding Thanksgiving, I showed up for treatment at 2 p.m. This meant  that I needed to go to the hospital after shopping that year. I remember telling the technicians all about our early-morning time at the mall, but also how I was looking forward to returning home for a nap.

As my friends' daughters grew up or our paths diverted, as some of my friends chose other places to shop or stayed home, as Black Friday shopping spilled over into Thanksgiving day, the group got smaller and smaller. This will be the second year Becca and I have chosen to go out on our own. Sometimes we run into friends, which is always fun, but I expect it'll be just us this year.

Since I have no desire to go out on Thanksgiving night, desiring to put a few hours of sleep in between being thankful and consumerism, we will continue to show up at the mall around 4 a.m, even though it's been open for hours.  We will continue the early morning awakening, drive down darkened, near-empty streets, and if it's like last year, an easy parking spot near the entrance. Instead of at the beginning of the shopping frenzy, our 4 am arrival hits in the sweet spot between those who shop on Thanksgiving night and those who shop during the day.

Our goal is to wander around, probably find some sales at some of her favorite places, maybe find clothes for Walt, the boys and even me, enjoy a coffee at Starbucks, and continue to make a memory. I'll try to get a picture this year.

We don't have specific expectations but are usually surprised by some deal. I don't get much Christmas shopping accomplished, unless Becca surpasses my budget for her clothes and we wrap up some must-have items for under the tree.

Mostly it's time doing something together, watching the crazy people, and finding out what has been on her mind lately.

And as I wander the mall this year, it will be especially poignant since it is likely to be the last time she'll be around for Thanksgiving in a while. She is considering a college out of state, and flying home for Thanksgiving with Christmas break so close probably won't be feasible.

We will cross that bridge when it comes.

In the meantime, I'll set my alarm on Thanksgiving night, and fall asleep anticipating this time once more.

And as I do, realizing the importance of connecting with my kids while they are at home, I'll ponder how I can include a special time with each of my boys this year.

Any suggestions?

God is Faithful

"God is faithful."

I heard this response frequently in response to my cancer updates. God has been extremely kind and good and loving as He has led me through this journey.

Yet, when I that my good news was connected to God being faithful, I couldn't help but cringe. 

If God is faithful to me because I caught my cancer early enough, or the chemo and radiation were effective, what does that say to people who don't hear good news?

Was God not faithful to my friend whose cancer broke through her lymph nodes and has a 50% chance of showing up somewhere else in her body? Or what about my friends who are diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer from the start and will always be in treatment, their life most likely shortened and always filled with some kind of pain?  

For that matter, what about the godly parents whose children are sick or wayward? What about those who have lost homes in a flood or a fire? Or lost their jobs unexpectedly or unfairly? Or are waiting in the desert, not hearing from God, longing for something good, like bringing their teenage son home from Africa who has been bound up in governmental red tape and procrastination? 

Therefore know that the LORD your God, He is God, the faithful God who keeps covenant and mercy for a thousand generations with those who love Him and keep His commandments; (Deut 7:9)

I always connected God's faithfulness with keeping His promises. God promises eternal life (John 3:16), always providing a way out of temptation (1 Cor 10:13), that the elderly, childless Abraham would have descendents as numerous as the stars (Gen 15:5). The many promises in the bible include His provision, refuge, rest, salvation. 

A small snapshot of what the bible says about faithfulness

He never promised a cancer-free, easy life. So my being free of cancer wasn't because He is faithful, but because of His kindness, right?

Yet as I studied and prayed, I'm beginning to see where my picture of faithfulness falls short. 

Psalm 111:7 states "The works of his hands are faithful and just..."  God's works are faithful. His character is faithful. His plan for each of us is faithful. 

In fact, He promises, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart; I have overcome the world." (John 16:33) 

Yes, we are promised trouble and hardship in this world. But, we are also promised that God has overcome the world. I think this could mean in this moment or in the end.  My view to the eternal, knowing God wins in the end, that whatever I am facing is temporary when lined up with forever, helps keep my struggles in perspective. Yet, leaning on His faithfulness means we can trust His plan today, too. That somehow this struggle, this pain, this difficulty will make sense. That He who began this work, will complete it in Christ Jesus. (Phil 1:6)

I can be confident that today, God's plan leads me to the good news of clear tests during my six-month screenings. I'm so incredibly thankful that I'm cancer-free. 

However, my message of God's faithfulness would have more teeth had I received bad news. Sure, it's easy to be thankful for God's plan that is easy and hopeful.

Here is a better example. A few years ago I listened in tears at a retreat as a young wife and mother told the story of her husband's tragic accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. She said, that despite everything she walked through and will continue to walk, she wouldn't change anything. From her blog, Healing for Thomas, she writes,  "Although this event was tragic and traumatic and completely changed the course of our lives, it has lead us straight into the arms of Jesus and we have found true intimacy with Him there! We would not change these events in our lives because only now do we see and know God in a way we only drempt (sic) of before…He has given us real and lasting hope."
Sometimes, our faithful God, pushes us to the ledge of all we can manage on our own, wanting us to let go and trust Him to work out His plan, to connect with Him in a way that is more intimate and real than ever before. 
In Daniel 3:16, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego stood before the burning furnace because they chose faith in God over worshipping idols. They knew "the God we serve is able to deliver us from it... but even if He does not, we will not serve your gods." 
They put their lives into the hands of the God they trusted who could choose to save them in the furnace or save them in eternity. As those of you who have read the story know, the three men were tied up and thrown into the blazing furnace, ordered seven times hotter than usual. It was so hot that the flames of the fire killed the soldiers who were near the open door. Then, King Nebuchadnezzar saw four people in the furnace, walking around, unbound. When he ordered them out, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego came out of the fire completely unharmed. Not a hair on their head was singed, their robes completely untouched.
This is an incredible story. In this case, God chose to go with the men into the fire (or at least I assume the fourth figure in the fire was Him). In other situations, His plan may be to prevent someone from going into the fire, or walking them completely through it into eternity. In all situations, God is always faithful to His plan.


Those who lean into God during the fire, will experience Him in ways they couldn't before. As much as I enjoy health and activity, I sometimes miss those days when I lay helpless from the effects of chemo, worshiping God with my tears.  I never felt more loved and cared for than in those quiet, hard moments. 

The kids, Sugar and I taken Christmas Eve, shortly after finishing treatment in 2012

This picture, taken this summer, shows how much the kids and my hair have grown

So is God faithful in my good news? Absolutely. He is faithful no matter what circumstance, whether a scary trial or the sweet relief of good health. He is always faithful to His character, a God of immeasurable love, goodness, and refuge. 

"The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." (Deut 31:8)

As I am posting this on election day, I can't help to remind myself that no matter the results, God is still faithful. He is still God, in control, unsurprised, almighty King.

Steven Curtis Chapman, the Christian singer and songwriter, posted a video on his facebook page with a song he wrote. He has an amazing way of nailing the truth:

He is faithful and true, 

everything He says He'll do,

And everything we go through, 

He will go with us.

All the kingdoms of man 

are in the palm of His hand

So I will not fear, I'll say it loud and clear, so my own heart can hear it

God is on the throne.

 Steven Curtis Chapman video

Book Musings

This fall I sensed a need to slow down, to dodge the bullets of Facebook political battlefields, to pause in between activities to appreciate the moment, to consider the person over my schedule. My reading time also reflected the need for a simpler time. On one of  my visits to the library, I noticed a Mitford novel I hadn't read yet.

This is Jan Karon's 10th book in her Mitford series. If you haven't heard of her, you really need to start here

Then if you like this one, you have at least nine more books in the series to savor.

During the years of parenting babies, I enjoyed living vicariously in this fictional North Carolina town, following the surprisingly entertaining adventures of Father Timothy Kavanaugh, his couch-size dog who only obeys scripture commands, a throw away boy and a pretty next door neighbor. This gentle series offers sage wisdom, a charming small town setting complete with a map  on the inside covers of the book, neighbors who take care of one another, and moments that foster a smile and sometimes outright laughter.

If you, like me, devoured each book as they came out but have ventured on to other books and series, let me invite you back to the rich cast of characters inside this newer offering. It was fun to catch up again on the lives of the retired Father Tim and his now wife, their adopted son who is wrestling with grown up decisions, and the rest of the cast of characters who  make Mitford feel like home. Because of my absence, I found myself trying to remember who was who, and stumbled on this beautiful collection of treasured moments from the series.

I'm a huge library fan, but I have some of these books in my collection. I also lend out books from time to time, so I'm missing a few of the ones I've collected. That's okay, though. In my eyes, books aren't meant to be stored but shared.

And when I love a book, I enjoy letting people know about it. This is how I am living in the present today.

Waiting Room

"You can wait here while the doctor looks over the films and I'll come get you with the results," the technician said as she opened the door to the waiting room I left a few minutes before. I walked past women robed in cream-colored gowns, some idly flipping through magazines or scrolling on their phones. I didn't know their stories, but something inside me wanted to know.

• Who is here for their first mammogram?
• Who is here for a routine mammogram?
• Who is here waiting for the results of a diagnostic mammogram, wondering if the doctor will find something, like me?
• Who is scared to death?

I found a magazine and a chair, sipping my coffee. I feel at peace, I thought, God's in control. The magazine didn't hold my interest so I glanced around. No one was talking. Everyone looked calm on the outside, but I wondered what storms swirled inside?

The door opened and a younger lady was called back for a mammogram. Shortly after, she returned and found a seat near me, quickly burying her head in a magazine. She was probably waiting for results and trying to hide her concern.

I returned to my magazine and wondered, maybe I should steel myself for bad news. If the technologist comes back with a concern from the doctor, a suspicious spot, or more calcifications which is how they caught my cancer, I could be swept up into the frantic pace of an ultrasound and even a biopsy.  Maybe I should prepare.

Then I reminded myself that, if that should happen, God's grace would meet me there.  I thought of the verse do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God (Philippians 4:6).  I admit I didn't know it verbatim at the time, but I knew enough of the words to know the verse doesn't stop at, do not be anxious. While the exact wording evaded me and my phone was locked up in my locker at the time, I knew I wasn't supposed to be sitting there actively trying not to worry, but I was to replace that fear with prayer and praise. 

I prayed for my films, that they would be clear. I prayed for the other women in the waiting room. I thanked God for carrying me thus far, for always providing what I needed at the time. For providing me with peace. For His grace.

The technician called me back. I noticed she didn't have a piece of paper. She told me the doctors were behind but she hadn't forgotten me. I smiled, thanked her, and returned to the waiting room.

I refilled my coffee cup with hot water. After the coffee, I wanted to rehydrate and the warmth was calming. I sat back in peace, knowing God already knew. 

A few more women went back for their mammograms and left.  A few new ones joined us. 

I was on my second cup of hot water when the technician called me back, this time with the white paper that held my fate. She led me into a corner space and said, "Everything is fine. We will see you in a year. "  I smiled, tucked the paper securely in my palm, and went back through those doors for the final time, grateful. 

The one thing I noticed was I didn't have the same elation I felt the first couple of times I heard those words. It wasn't because they were any less meaningful, but this time they weren't ushered in with a sudden release of fear. I already was calm. Now I felt gladness. Thankful. Securely loved.

Benign.

One of my favorite words.

One part of my screening is done. I left blood behind at the oncology center to be screened for tumor markers and other indicators of potential problems. My bones were also screened, since the lack of estrogen in my body affects bone density.  I'm hoping the exercises I try to include daily, nutrition and supplements counterattack the lack of estrogen which my body needs to ward off cancer. It's the delicate balancing act. A tightrope that cancer patients tiptoe, side effects versus benefits, statistics versus evidence. Cancer stalks, lies hidden, evades detection so we cannot know for sure if it's been eradicated. Thus, we fight the invisible enemy with all our guns, hoping it's enough.

I'll know on November 1st.

I don't wait in fear but in surety of the God who knows my future. I fill my days with praise and prayer, easily distracted with the pace of daily activities with three teenagers. But every once in awhile, I wonder. Will a tumor marker be elevated, revealing something for which I have no symptoms yet? Then I remember all the previous times of useless worry, remember God's words are not only true, but they are vital to living in the present.

Today, I'm cancer free. It's all I need to know. I'll leave the rest up to God. 

As I finish this post, I want to remind anyone reading this that if it's time for your mammogram, let me encourage you to pick up the phone and schedule it. Remember I didn't have a family history, and 80% of breast cancer diagnoses do not have one. You are at risk because you are a woman and getting older. So, please, schedule your mammogram. It takes time. It's uncomfortable. It's a bit scary. But without it, you will miss out on a vital piece of your health knowledge. You can't fight what you don't know.

Besides, who wouldn't want to wear a rose gown, open in the front, and covered securely by a warm, cream-colored robe?

A Full October

It snuck up on me this time. A few days ago I was checking my calendar for what my next week looked like, and saw this:

The start of my six-month cancer screenings are tomorrow. I guess it's a good thing that it snuck up on me. It means I'm living life and not waiting out cancer. It means I'm living in the present and not worried about tomorrow. It means I'm trusting God and not concerned about these tests. It also means my life is full of living, and since this is my first time going six-months between appointments, I have chosen to live it to it's fullest.

I knew it was coming up soon since I went into my endocrinologist last week and I see him every six months, too. I've actually scheduled my primary care doctor visit next week, deciding to bunch up my appointments.  Then the following week I meet with my oncologist and discuss the results of the blood test, dexa scan (for bone density) and mammogram.  I'll probably know the results of my mammogram because I usually need to wait around for them. Yet, I may not, since this will be my first "screening" mammo since my diagnosis in 2012. Up to this point, I've had a diagnostic mammogram, where the doctor is shown my films while I wait, making sure no suspicious spots have appeared. Six months ago, you may have remembered me posting this:

This was my report after my last mammogram, and instead of being considered "probably benign," I moved into the "benign" category. So, tomorrow I'll find out if that means I get sent home like most women and wait for the results to come in the mail, or if I'm sent back to the waiting room for a cup of tea until a doctor has a chance to read the films and report back to me.

October, since it's also called Breast Cancer Awareness month, is full of mixed emotions to me. I decided to channel those into an article and see if I can get it published. Many of you know that last week it was indeed published on the Everyday Health website. Here is a link to my article if you haven't read it yet:

Why We Need to Rethink Pink

It's been a fast-moving month. Ben has had a great tennis season and seems to be adapting to high school, not without some bumps and bruises, but every day is a bit easier for him. Becca and Nathan are busy in their Senior and Junior years, taking challenging courses, deciding on colleges. I released my responsibilities as a homeschooling mom to more concentrated time writing, exploring possible part time jobs and tackling a few more household projects. I'm also in two bible studies, where I've loved digging into God's word and connecting with more women. I'm trying not to say yes to just anything that comes my way, waiting to see what God is leading me to do.

I was chatting with a friend the other day, mentioning how busy life is, when she said a friend of hers chooses to say, "My life is full with things I choose to fill it with." Doesn't that sound much better than "busy?" Busy has a bit of a negative bent to it, while a "full life" seems more positive.

And why not choose fullness over busyness? After all, Jesus didn't give us a busy life, but in John 10:10, He said, "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full."

Sometimes you have to go through a mountain of pain, hurt or sorrow to get to the full. Whether you are standing before the mountain, in the middle of the torturous climb, or maybe seeing the top, God's going to see you through.

Four Years Ago

Yesterday Facebook reminded me it was the anniversary of my last chemotherapy for breast cancer. It's been four years. I still remember the metallic taste of the heparan that was injected to clean out my port. That was the first taste in my mouth and remained along with fuzzy cotton for the next couple of weeks. Actually, if I remember correctly (and I can't be trusted on that these days), I think by this time the fuzzy cotton mouth never left.  I do remember wondering what it will be like to not have a three week cycle, to finally allow time for  my body to fully rebound against the attacks of chemo.  All I had to do was endure one more massive beating. My body was weak, my red blood cell count was pitiful, and I was out of breath, achy and tired all the time.

I would continue to go back weekly for infusions of Herceptin, the miracle drug which helped defeated the aggressiveness of my Her2 positive breast cancer. Then starting in October, I would go back once every three weeks instead of weekly until a year was out. Fortunately my main side effects from this drug were a running nose and insomnia, both easily tolerated.

I remember this day in 2012, hopeful that the chemo did its job, but so tired to think of anything but lasting until bedtime. The kids were all still homeschooling and busy with soccer, church and other activities.  Friends graciously transported them to places because all I could do was sleep. The nausea hadn't set in yet, and the steroids only gave me a bump of energy. That weekend I would miss soccer games and church. Besides not being able to eat or barely drink, I would need to swallow a gigantic potassium pill because now those levels were also low. Walt would bring me back to the clinic for fluids on Monday while friends transported my kids to their co-op classes. We did the best we could. We survived, barely.

It felt like that week would never end, perhaps because it was my last time and I was finished. Done. No more. Finito.  And I couldn't wait to start feeling better.

Once the nausea subsided in about a week, I still felt run down. I tried to eat red meat and spinach and kale to try to boost my iron and combat the anemia. My doctor said it would just take time. I couldn't go on walks during this time, out of breath just walking up the stairs to my bedroom. Even after a few days when I ordinarily would start feeling stronger, I was so weak. I wanted to start walking again, but it needed to be on a flat surface. Hills destroyed me. The track at the high school wouldn't work because of the stairs leading down to it. Everything had to be considered. If I went this far, would I be able to make it back?

Eventually, I caught my breath again. The metally taste and nausea subsided. My stomach was still sensitive so I had to continue to cook my vegetables and avoid anything hard to digest. In a few weeks, I would meet with Dr. Hunter, the radiation oncologist, and learn about radiation. I remember how wonderful it felt three weeks after my last chemo to be going in for just Herceptin. I would continue to improve, not crash again.

I remember back then how going to church, after missing so many Sundays, was magical. Every song, every word, every embrace by friends meant so much. Sitting at the boys' soccer games, soaking up every moment. Looking in the mirror, wondering, will my hair grow back?

Becca singing in church one Sunday during this time--so grateful I could be there

Watching Ben's soccer games

And Nathan's... so thankful to be able to participate in life again

Still wearing my hat and scarf

I am also sensitive, then and now, of those cancer patients whose treatment do not have an end. These are metastatic cancer patients, where the cancer has spread from the initial site. Some people were diagnosed that way from the beginning, and others had a second diagnosis after finishing their first rounds of chemo treatment. When the cancer has spread to other places, mostly the bones, liver or brain for breast cancer patients, you are considered stage 4. There are no further stages. Cancer can be conniving, too, jumping stages with no rhyme or reason. Just because you start at stage 1 or 2, doesn't mean you have a couple of stages to go. This also means that unless the cancer miraculously goes into remission and becomes dormant, the stage 4 cancer patient will be on chemo for the rest of his or her life, either until the drugs stop working or they can't be tolerated anymore.

One other thing to know, just because someone has no breasts, it doesn't mean the cancer won't return or spread. Even the most skilled surgeon cannot remove all breast tissue in a mastectomy. Even after surgery and chemo, cancer cells can lay dormant in someone's body, sometimes for years, and suddenly spring to life.

When I considered between lumpectomy and mastectomy, I elected to take a conservative approach. My surgeon stated that the overall survival between the two is the same. Lumpectomy would require radiation and had a slightly higher recurrence rate than mastectomy. The rate of metastasis was the same. So, we prayed through the decision and felt the less aggressive approach was right for us. The recovery time from the surgery was shorter so we could attack any rogue cancer cells sooner with chemotherapy.

Sometimes this decision between mastectomy and lumpectomy is taken away from the woman because the tumor is too large or there are multiple small ones. Sometimes it's not the invasive tumor that is the concern but DCIS, a type of cancer that is still contained in the ducts and considered stage 0. When this area is extensive, the doctor will often recommend removing the breast.

Each woman will look at the facts, consider whether she wants radiation or not, consider the stress of continued screenings and fear and decide to remove the cancerous breast and sometimes even the healthy one. Each woman will decide what is right for her. I don't regret having a lumpectomy, even though radiation did cause problems in my shoulder. My bi-annual screenings have gradually become less scary. It was the right decision for me.

I also know several women who choose a mastectomy and that was the right decision for each of them. The last thing any woman needs is to be questioned about her very difficult, emotional decision made at markedly one of the most stressful, fearful, emotional times of her life.

As I look at my day today, one spent at the computer writing, anticipating a walk later and then watching Ben at his tennis match, I can't help but feel an overwhelmingly emotion of gratefulness. Four years ago, being bald and weak, seems like a lifetime ago. I'm thankful that God had me walk that journey because of the lessons I learned, but I so appreciate today. Right now. This moment of health and peace. Today, I'm rejoicing in the Lord's mercy.

"It is good to give thanks to the Lord, and to sing praises to Your name... to declare Your lovingkindness in the morning, and Your faithfulness every night." —Psalm 92:1-2

Interrupted From My Plans

Last week I stayed at a beautiful, five-star hotel in the heart of Oregon wine country, enjoying a leisurely free couple of days while Walt was in long planning meetings.This is my second time on this annual retreat, every year a new place.

I remember how hard I avoided it the first few years I was invited. I mean, if my avoiding this getaway was an athletic competition, I would have won a medal. My heart was firmly planted at home. I homeschooled. I needed to help the kids. Who's going to drive them to activities? Feed them? Wash their clothes? Get them up in the morning and make sure they finish their homework?

Actually, we have friends who were more than willing to help out with all of this.

I have nothing in common with the other wives.

Ouch. Finally, the truth. When I pushed away all my other reasons for my reluctance, I uncovered the real one. I felt unworthy. Who was I to go to a fancy hotel and interact with people much more sophisticated than I am? Who was I to say I was anything but a stay-at-home homeschooling mom?

Two years ago, after lining up places for my kids to go and rides to all their activities, I was on the verge of actually attending the conference. Then Ben started feeling sick. I can't remember exactly, but perhaps a sore throat. What if it gets worse? I couldn't let him infect my friends' kids who had graciously offered to have him stay with them. I played the mom card and jumped at the chance to cancel my plans.

What I remember most from that time was Ben's cold was pretty minor and talking with Walt during his long days at a conference without my support. I realized I let fear guide me. It wasn't a good feeling.

Last year, Walt urged me to go. It would help him. I should get to know the other wives. I knew I let him down the year before. So, I bit the bullet....and had an absolutely marvelous time.

Mostly, I discovered that I had more in common with the other wives than I thought. Peel away the fancy haircuts and designer clothes (which only a few actually wore--most of the others enjoyed their jeans and yoga pants as much as I did), they were wives, mothers, some with interesting careers and others who were tending their home and families, like me. Like me. I found I used that phrase much more often than I expected.

So this year, I eagerly packed a large tote bag full of books, pens and podcasts, planning on whiling away long, leisurely days by myself before joining everyone for the evening dinners.

God had other plans.

When we arrived at the hotel, our room was not ready. Walt needed to head into a meeting at noon, and I had planned on going for a walk before my massage appointment in a few hours. (Okay, even writing this makes me feel spoiled and indulgent. Last year I opted out of the chance to schedule a massage or even a pedicure because it wasn't me. Too fancy. Too girly. Too....much. This year, I bravely took the plunge and scheduled a massage to see if it would help with my achy joints. More on that later.)

So instead of slipping away to my room to change and explore the grounds by myself, I took my tote bag out to the patio and sipped on water, expecting a phone call any minute that my room would be ready.

One of the other wives, Gretchen, spotted me and I invited her to join me. She had a glass a wine and had ordered a light lunch. Because of my upcoming massage, I politely declined her offer to join her in eating, but nonetheless we shared a delightful conversation about our kids. I met Gretchen for the first time last year and immediately connected with her. She loves being a mom--so do I. Her last one just left for college--that'll be me in about four years. She now has time to travel with her husband and decide how she wants to spend her time. She is someone I easily admire and learn from. It was a nice way to spend my interrupted afternoon.

Soon, I broke away for my appointment, carrying my heavy tote bag, the books still unopened. After filling out paperwork, I was led to a locker which held a robe and slippers, then to a lounge area to wait for my therapist. Even though this was way out of my normal life, I certainly enjoyed it. I think I I imitated someone who knew what she was doing sorta well.

The inspiration to book this massage, to push myself out of my comfort zone so to speak, began last spring. I was sharing an update of my cancer story at our women's retreat and mentioned the aches and pains from taking Aromasin (the medicine which prevents estrogen in my body). One of my friends from church, a fellow breast cancer survivor, suggested I try massage since she found it to be surprisingly helpful for her aching joints. I took that advice in hand, and promptly tucked it away to do something with it some day.

Well, when I discovered we were staying at a spa which offered therapeutic massage options, and my massage would be paid for by the company, I couldn't not act on it. Even though, I was nervous calling to make the appointment. I was nervous walking down the steps to the spa. I was nervous sitting in a luxurious robe, drinking lavender-infused water and trying to act like I was supposed to be there. On the outside, I think I faked it pretty well. As I looked around, I wondered if it was only me or if everyone else belonged there.

The therapist put me at ease immediately. I could feel the muscles in my shoulder and hips loosen and lengthen. She advised I might be stiff the next day as my body releases the toxins. Instead, for the first time in too long I could do pushups without pain. When I moved after sitting for awhile, I felt no aches. My morning walk to the bathroom did not resemble a 90-year-old's shuffle. It was pure bliss. The aches have slowly returned, but the results of the message might be enough for me to find a therapist at home.

If I can find the time. And the money. (Although, I plan to talk with my doctor to see if I can get a prescription for massage...) Anyway, I'll keep you posted.

The next day was my free morning and afternoon of no plans except to read and walk and maybe even nap. After the heavy dinner the night before, I didn't feel like starting the day with a big breakfast, but I did want a cup of the freshly brewed, locally roasted coffee offered in the lobby. At the coffee pot, I smiled hi to one of the wives, one who I have seen around at various events through the years, usually a few drinks ahead of everyone else. Clearly, she was not someone I had much in common with.

As I wandered out to the same patio I sat at the day before with my coffee and book, she followed me. With a smile, she said, "I hope you don't think I'm stalking you."

I smiled back and invited her to join me. With my hair tucked into a baseball cap and wearing my favorite stretchy pants, I wasn't planning on staying long. Besides, she also had a paperback in hand.

We started talking.

And talking.

And talking.

This "party girl" and I had a lot more in common than either of us would have imagined. She loves being a mom. Her mom went through both ovarian and breast cancers. She fears the same future.

We talked about hopes. And dreams. And frustrations. We shared a little about what we believed in God. She described what she loves about being home with the kids and what she hates. I understood both.

We went to refill our coffee cups and discovered the coffee was gone. It was approaching 11 already. Both of us, now starving, sat down to eat lunch.

Three hours had passed. My book remained unopened. My plans of a quiet morning interrupted.

It was a case of an introvert (me) meeting an extrovert (her). It was meaningful and rich.  Just as God planned it.

I said goodbye and headed back to my room. I spent a few quiet minutes reading before I decided to get in a walk first. After some exercise and a bit of exploring, I would feel better about spending the rest of the afternoon reading and maybe napping.

My earphones connected to a podcast, I wandered into the lobby to find a handful of the wives gathered there. "We are heading out for a five-mile walk," Kelly, the president's wife, offered. "Want to join us?"

Of course I would. A five mile walk was more than I knew I would do on my own. Plus, how fun would it be to find out more about these women as we walked, no fancy shoes or jewelry to get in the way of real conversation. In fact, some were not even wearing makeup.

We headed out, lost our way, turned around, headed back. We still weren't sure where we were supposed to be, but it sure was fun. Two of the women dropped out when they spotted the huge hill in front of us, but some of us continued on. We spotted alpacas. From the top of another hill, we enjoyed vistas of orchards and vineyards. We tramped into the grassy ditch as cars passed us on the narrow road. Eventually, several hours later, we managed to find our way back to the inn.

What was supposed to be a five-mile walk probably turned into six or seven. It was hard to tell because I was hearing the stories of interesting women as I breathed in the fresh, fall air.

Our final push was up these stairs leading to a container filled with ice-cold water. Then we said our goodbyes as we headed to our rooms for showers and the remaining quiet minutes before we would gather for dinner that night.

Yes, the day was not as I planned but more than I hoped. Most of my books remained unopened during the days I stayed here, but my soul was filled with rich connections. I realized that by asking questions and listening, I found similarities and common ground to begin a friendship with people I would have never thought possible.

Mostly, I discovered that when God interrupts my plans, it's for a purpose. I might even learn that I was indeed worthy of being there, not because of what I did, but who I was. I was enough. I am enough. And so were the people I met. And so are you.

Things I Learned This Summer

Nathan and Ben on Lake Crescent

In August, our school has a couple of start up days where I have the privilege of writing big checks to pay for ASB cards and yearbooks, and the kids get their class schedules. It's been the beginning of the end of summer for our family the past three years. We mourn the end of summer at our house. Ben, while on the cusp of starting high school for the first time and wanting the summer to be longer, aptly pointed out, "It seems like time is speeding up. Each minute is like a half of minute."

I heartily agree with him on how fast the summer seemed to whiz by.  Now that the weather is inviting cozy blankets and sweaters, and the kids have started back to school, it sure does feel like summer has left the building. Before it leaves us entirely in its wake, I wanted to reflect on five things I learned this summer.

1. God has our backs. Sometimes He may choose not to answer our prayers the way we want, but I know He always has our best.  When I question His actions or inactions, I can trust His heart. I relearned this again this summer.

Despite the blurriness in this picture, we were
 having fun

We were vacationing in Florida. My oldest in particular was not happy being away from her friends. Walt and I were determined to make this trip, which could be her last summer with us, as memorable and fun as possible. One afternoon we rented kayaks and paddleboards and set out for adventure on the Guana Preserve in Jacksonville. We were having an absolutely marvelous time, the sun not too bright, fish occasionally surprising us with leaps out of the water, the sounds of oars splashing and kids laughing. Suddenly, an errant oar sent two cell phones in the water. The water was only about thigh high, but it was murky. Despite fervent prayers, Walt's best attempts at recovering the phones were defeated. I couldn't understand why God wouldn't answer this simple prayer and increase the faith of my kids who doubt that He cares for things like this. One of the phones was my daughter's, and being so far away from friends, it was a lifeline.

Walt responded brilliantly, reminding the kids that we lost something we could replace. Other than a few pictures not backed up and a phone case from Barcelona given by a friend (hard to lose, of course, but not devastating), our situation was remedied by a quick trip to the AT&T store and a few dollars.

Waiting for our ride back (the pre-kayaking pictures are in the water)

Enjoying the sun nonetheless

Later in the trip, as I drove  the kids south to Orlando where our flight was departing the next day, we saw clear evidence of God's work in our lives.

I was entering the freeway and a car came from nowhere, sped up along my left side, then dangerously veered into my lane, barely missing my front bumper. The kids and I watched in shock as the car recklessly entered the freeway, crossed four lanes of traffic and bounced off the guardrail. Time seemed to slow down as prayers were sent and cars braked and swerved to avoid a collision. The car, its hubcap bouncing down the road, continued its precipitous maneuvers. I slowed, as did most of the other cars on the freeway, allowing as much distance as possible. Becca called 911 to report the reckless behaviour, and all I could do, blinking away tears, was praise God for saving us, for saving the others on the road.

As I reflected on what just happened, I'm convinced that one of God's angels deflected the car from my bumper, and kept the car from causing a major accident on the fast-moving freeway. God was there. His purpose for us that day was not only be spared an accident but catch a glimpse of Him.

2. Sometimes we parents take too much credit when our kids are successful and too much blame when they make poor choices.

Family picture at our friends' summer wedding

 I've been known to puff with pride when I witness how well my kid performed on a test or played a sport or helped out that person. I love hearing comments from teachers and counselors at schools about how much they like my kids. Parenting has been the most amazing, emotional experience I could have ever wished for. However, as my kids enter their last years of high school, I realize that they will make choices I wouldn't prefer. They will stumble. I have one who is pushing, challenging, looking for things outside of what we have taught. We pray. We talk. We love. We establish boundaries, and when tested, pull them closer. We make mistakes. We start over. We pray again, often, constantly.

I know some parents might think we should be more involved with our kids, to limit their choices, to forbid them to see a certain friend or group of friends. Others may think we are too involved, too controlling, too in their business. The beauty of parenting is it is not a competitive sport. We all do our best, we love our kids like crazy, and my winning doesn't mean your losing. And vice versa.

Frankly, I long for the days when a timeout would stop a tantrum. I miss the days when I knew all their friends and their friends' parents and where they were every minute. Now as my kids spread their wings, they choose friends over hanging with  mom. I know it's normal. I want them to spread their wings. It doesn't mean I'll always enjoy it or stop fervently praying for their safety, their wisdom, their friends.

Ultimately, good or bad, right or wrong, successful in the world's eyes or successful in God's, it'll be their choice. Their actions. Their overcoming or giving up. Walt and I will always be their number one fan, be their greatest prayer warrior, but we need to give over the reins of their life to them. I pray they turn those reins over to God. I pray they recognize how much God loves them. That His plan is better.  That a life outside of God's will is not as amazing as it may seem. But, ultimately, it's their choice. Watching on the sidelines is not easy, but then I remember the power of prayer and return to my main job on my knees.

3. I love summer. This is actually not a new lesson, but I just needed to get this out. I will never be one of those moms who celebrate having their kids go back to school. I enjoy lazy mornings where the sun or the birds wake me, not my blaring alarm. I enjoy leisurely days choosing to pick up a book because the laundry/cleaning/bills or whatever can wait because my schedule isn't jam packed with things. I love the longer days, where an after dinner walk is bathed in lots of sunshine.

I love time with  my kids. Even when they prefer to be with friends, or prefer to be in their rooms, or prefer their independence. I enjoy my kids. Laughing at the dinner table. Standing in lines at Universal Studios in Orlando, trying to squeeze in as many rides as possible before heading to the airport. Going to church together. Celebrating birthdays. BBQing in the backyard. Roasting marshmallows or chatting around the fire. Even shopping (which for this non-shopper just means a reason to hang out with one of my kids.)

I love spontaneous conversations about nothing and everything. I love the people my kids are becoming.

I miss the simple moments that are swallowed up by the busyness of fall. You will never convince me that more quiet moments to write or to get "things done" while the kids are at school is better than hanging with my kids. I'm just saying.

4. I've learned it pays to be fearless, to risk, to push myself away from my comfort zone.  I wish I could say I operate under this policy all the time, but quite frankly, I'm a coward when it comes to stepping out of my little bubble I've created. Yet, isn't it true that fear can make our world extremely small?

On this recent trip to Florida, Walt had to leave a day early for a business meeting. I was left with the responsibility to drive the 2 1/2 hours south to Orlando with the kids. Now, I've flown with the kids when they were little, so of course flying with teenagers is a breeze. All I had to do is rent a car in Jacksonville, plan out the distance, allow for ample room for getting lost or traffic, and get on a plane. I can do this.

Then Becca asked us about going to Universal Studios while we were on this trip. We were there a week, after all, surely we could fit it in. The logistics of driving over five hours round trip and a full day at the park wasn't happening. Too much. Too far away.

Then Walt asked me innocently, "What about going to Orlando a day early and go to the park prior to flying out?" Our flight was scheduled for seven. Universal Studios was minutes away from the airport. Our kids would be easy travelers. It could work. In his eyes, it seemed simple enough.

Then fear set in. I would need to do the planning. The driving. The scheduling. All on me. Yes, the kids would be great helps, but right now they were lightheartedly swimming in the pool or watching Netflix while I made the decisions.

Then I remembered, this could be Becca's last trip to Florida, her last big trip with our family. This could be a great family memory, something to look forward to before the long plane ride home, a reason to be glad we were flying out of Orlando and not the closer Jacksonville airport.

So I prayed and felt immediate peace. I double checked with God, "You will be with me, right?" God's word promises, "Surely, I will be with you always." (Matt 28:20). This is not a conditional promise, if I do this, then God will do that. No, this is a promise. Period. This is not something I need to doubt, to even pray for, but sometimes, it doesn't hurt to make sure. Sometimes it just feels better to know that I won't need to do this on my own.

I searched for a hotel nearby Universal, found an excellent deal and booked it. Then I talked with the kids to get their feedback on which of the two parks to explore, since we had just one day, and not a full one at that. Quick texts to their friends brought upon a consensus. We chose Islands of Adventure.

Then a bit more investigating found a place to stay where we could get into the park an hour early. It would cost a bit more. Again, further discussions brought the consensus that we would regret it if we didn't. Which ended up being true. So, fortunately I was able to cancel the first reservation and rebook us into a new place.

Then more research on tickets and directions and logistics. I spent a lot of energy thinking and debating and wondering. This is where Walt would just head down and figure it out on the fly. Nope, I needed to think through as much as possible, too much, in fact.

Then we had that scary almost accident as we drove down, got lost for a bit as the kids' Iphone app didn't update the directions fast enough, pulled into the wrong place, navigated around construction and rainstorms, checked in, and finally made it to our room, exhausted.


All through this, I kept reminding myself that God was with us. That it was evident He was caring for us. That fully replacing my fear with trust smoothed out my emotions and gave me energy for the important things. Although Nathan still believed I was freaking out a bit when all I was doing is talking through my decisions and praying.  Is it only me who does this? Walt advised him on the differences between how women process challenges and the silence men usually exhibit. Or at least my men.

All in all, it was well worth the risk to experience the thrill of one last amazing family memory. I learned that when I step out to the cliff, God securely has a grip on me.

Our first glimpse of Islands of Adventure

Wondering why the Green Eggs and Ham restaurant is closed

Soaking wet and in line for King Kong.
Amazingly fun adventure with the kids

We sang a song in church that reminded me of this, titled You Make Me Brave by Bethel Music. Here are the lyrics that spoke to me:

So I will let you draw me out beyond the shore

Into your grace

Into your grace

As Your love in wave after wave

Crashes over me

Crashes over me

The key point is we won't experience God's grace safely standing on the shore. It's only when we step out in faith that we see God's grace, that we feel His love crashing over us. That will be my challenge as we head into the fall, to live fearlessly.

5. Summer is for reading.  Again, this isn't anything earthshaking or new, especially when the term "beach read" is splashed over almost every new novel that is launched in the summer. Yet, I made reading a priority this summer, above Netflix and household projects, and just below spending time with God and family/friends.

I read several nonfiction books this summer. Tops on this list were Restless: Because You Were Made for More  by Jennie Allen (actually listened to this on audio while I repainted our front door) and Rhinestone Jesus: Saying Yes to God When Sparkly Safe Faith is No Longer Enough by Kristen Welch. Both of these challenged me, inspired me to say yes to God and listen for what He has for me.

I also read some incredible memoirs, notably When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi. If you haven't read this book, I suggest you go to your nearest library and check it out, although it'll probably have an unbelievably long waitlist for it. What makes this book so enriching is these were the last words penned by Dr. Kalanithi, a neurosurgeon who aspired to be a writer. Although it is undeniably sad, it is more aptly described as a beautiful, poetic portrait of a life lived well.

Two other memoirs worth noting from my summer book pile is Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail by Cheryl Strayed and The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels by Ree Drummond. These two women couldn't be more different that I can't even believe I'm grouping them together. Yet, they are connected by my summer of 2016 reading adventures. I picked up Strayed's book awhile ago,  before the movie came out, but couldn't get past the first chapters which dealt with her drug use and out-of-control life choices. Yet, for some reason I decided to listen to it on audio and persevered through to the end. I am not sure if I fully recommend this book because I felt she lived a life that was all-consuming of self, but her adventures on the trail and the people she met were very interesting.

The Pioneer Woman, on the other hand, was an easy, breezy read, full of interesting stories and mishaps as she began her life on the ranch. This was an impulse grab at the library that turned out to be an enjoyable read.

Now, while nonfiction can be an ignitor for growth in me, I often find myself getting lost in a well-written novel. I believe fiction feeds my soul when the writing flows with beautiful images and a smart plot. A surprisingly enchanting book I just finished is A Man Called Ove by Fredik Bachman. How does a story of a grumpy  man (I can't use the word elderly since he was still in his fifties, although I've seen it used other places to describe him) with staunch principles and an orderly life find his way into one of my favorite reads of the year? It's a nice story that turns into an endearing one as Ove triumphs over difficulties, fights for what is right and becomes a hero to a struggling family. I won't say a peep more or I'll spoil the fun unraveling of this tender, memorable story.  This is exactly what I mean when fiction feeds my soul.

Other highlights of my book-filled summer was The Kitchen House by Kathleen Grissom (not an easy summer read but very well-written about a white servant girl indentured to the kitchen on a slave plantation) and The Lake House by Kate Morton. This is my first Kate Morton book, and it will not be my last. I really enjoyed the multi-layers of her characters, the vivid descriptions without being excessively wordy, and the twists and mysteries of her plot. This was a fun book which I took along on my own summer adventure to Washington's coast.

So, as we switch gears into fall, I am glad for this chance to reflect back on what the summer has taught me. On the calendar, it's still summer, although the first soccer and football games tell me differently. So as I close, I'll remind myself of one more thing I've learned this summer, that even though it feels like fall, smells like fall, and tastes like fall, I shouldn't forget to put on sunscreen when I watch afternoon tennis matches on a sunny Saturday. My first sunburn of the season snuck up on me as a last summer lesson.

Ben serving during Saturday's tennis jamboree

Sugar's Life Lessons

As many of you know, our beloved, crazy, ball-chasing dog breathed her last breath a few weeks ago. The corner where her bed used to be is vacant. We no longer need to be careful as we climb up or down the steps, a favorite napping place for her. The crumbs we drop on the floor will remain there until one of us sweeps them up.

I was surprised by the depth of sadness I've experienced.  As she passed her 14th year, we knew she was approaching great-grandmother status in dog years. I admittedly looked forward to future days of freedom that would come with not caring for a pet. Walt and the kids used to kid me about it. However, when the reality of her final days was before me, I switched my tune. I knew no amount of freedom could compare with this sweet dog who shared our home and our hearts for almost ten years.

We first saw her online. She and her sister were being kept at the Humane Society. Walt met us there since it was close to his work. The paperwork said she was about four years old, weighed 80 pounds (her sister, Cookie, was close to 100), was named Sugar, and came from a family who kept both dogs outside most of the time. From their weight, they were probably given a big bowl of food and not exercised much.

We met her in a play area. She was so nervous from being in a cage with so many other dogs around that she refused a dog biscuit and barely chased the tennis ball we threw to her. Yet, we saw how much she loved the kids. Even though at the time she didn't act like the dog she would become, we somehow knew she would be a perfect fit for our family.

Our process of finding a family dog wasn't as easy as we thought it would be. The first place we went suggested the dog (a husky found on Petfinder) we were considering may not be the best fit for a first-time pet family. We visited all the dogs there that day, some with eager, longing eyes. None of them seemed right.

We then found a golden retriever online and arranged an appointment to meet her. She was being cared for by a foster family. (That should have been our first clue that we weren't the ones choosing her but we ourselves were being scrutinized.) Her name was Abby and was eight years old. She was a sweet dog and the kids enjoyed throwing the ball for her. I leaned down to stroke her golden coat while Walt quized them on the details of  her life. They asked us to think about it and call them in the morning. After a family discussion, we decided to adopt her. I called early in the morning and was caught by surprise that they rejected us. They. Rejected. Us.

The lady in charge said that they were concerned that Walt and I didn't interact with the dog as much as the kids. I had no words to respond. We, who were safely raising three children, were being turned down for a dog? Walt and I were flabbergasted. The kids were heart broken.

Yet, Becca wasn't defeated. She soon found Sugar's picture on Petfinder. Not wanting to disappoint our dog-loving daughter, we decided to at least meet her. God's plan for our family dog was satisfied that afternoon in Bellevue.

Before I knew it, we had filled out the adoption paperwork, paid the $100 fee, and bought a leash and dog dishes. Walt left for work, and I was leading our golden dog out of the animal shelter, desperately pulling her away from the cats near the door, clumsily lifting her up into our minivan. I have to admit, after all the difficulty of trying to find a dog, I was unprepared for her sitting in my van, panting, looking up at me eagerly, wondering with her brown eyes, "Where are we going?" My hands were shaky, my heart pounding, my forehead sweaty as I drove home. What just happened?

It wasn't long before she seamlessly fit into the fabric of our family. Some of my greatest joys as I think back at our young kids were watching them with Sugar. She lived for chasing balls in the park or backyard. She loved going on walks with whomever would take her. She loved the snow! She loved lying close to one of the kids in the backyard on a summer day or next to the fire in our family room on a rainy day. There was not a person she didn't love.

As she grew older, I knew her time on earth was drawing to a close. I tried to prepare the kids for the inevitable. She had started leaking urine. I grew tired of cleaning up messes, some stains I was unable to get out. While I was prepping dinner, she inevitably was underfoot or staring me down for her food. At night, she would pant loudly, needing to be wherever Walt or I was. We hesitated making vacation plans because she needed more attention.

That's why I was caught by surprise at how much I miss her, how many tears I've shed.

Her end was mercifully quick. We took her to the vet on the Saturday morning of Memorial Day weekend because her stomach was distended. We learned she had a mass on her spleen. Since she was 14 years old and had a cancerous tumor removed a few years ago, we knew there was nothing more to be done. By Tuesday, after our neighbor friends, the ones who most often took care of Sugar when we were gone, said their goodbyes, we knew without a doubt it was time to let her go.

On Wednesday morning, Sugar had turned her body completely to the wall, and refused to take any water. I was still waiting to hear back from the vet on what time we could bring her in when Ben and I had to leave for an annual test homeschoolers in Washington are required to take. Ben took a moment to pet her, and as we walked toward the garage, Sugar pulled her head up and looked me in the eye. I suspected she was saying goodbye.

When I returned a couple hours later, she was gone. She had died in one of her favorite places, in front of the fireplace. We didn't have to take her to the vet, which was her least favorite place to go. We didn't have to decide when she would die. She mercifully offered that to us as her parting gift. She died characteristically like she lived, wanting to please us.

I pulled the older kids from school to say goodbye and we all spent a few moments (with a couple of our friends who also stopped by) crying together. Becca was the last one in the room, spending a few moments alone with her sweet puppy (as she like to call her), and covered her still body with a sheet while we waited for Walt to arrive to help take her body to the vet.

The assistant at the vet's office, despite being bombarded with people when we showed up, couldn't have been more compassionate or efficient. And just like that, Walt, Nathan and I drove away to return home, the home where someone would be missing.

As our emotions have settled and our hearts have begun to mend, I consider the lesson of Sugar's short life. She reminded me of what's important in life. Those first few days after she was gone, I would have given anything for one more night where she followed me around the kitchen. As I sat on the couch, relaxing at the end of the day, I wanted so badly for her to come lay at my feet, smelly breath and all, so I could pet her soft fur and let  her know how thankful I was that she came into our lives.

As I look at this last season of parenting my kids, all three in high school next fall, I hope to apply the lessons Sugar taught me. I know there will be things that irritate me, but I hope to embrace each moment, knowing it might be exactly the thing I miss most when they are gone. Teenage emotions are tricky sometime, but for this season, for this time, I want to do the best I can to embrace my kids, to enjoy their highs and comfort their lows. Because the day will come when my kitchen will be quiet, the picked up room will remain clean, when I can choose more of the meals for Walt and me as opposed to what they prefer, when I'll long for the noise and the chaos. If I don't embrace this time now, to abandon my to-do list and take them on more adventures, to put down my book and invite them to play a game, to find the joy in their crazy schedules and the moments to connect, I will regret it later.

Sugar taught me that the very thing I wish I didn't have to do anymore will be the thing I might miss the most.

I found one of Sugar's tennis balls shortly after her death, hidden under a table. It tugged at my heart, another reminder of what we lost. Yet, it also reminded me of what we gained because we opened our home to this dog, a dog who poured out love and loyalty. God certainly wrapped a golden bow around our kids' childhood with this one amazing dog.

Goodbye, sweet Sugar. You were the best dog any family could hope for.