Afterward
I just love a good before and after, especially when it comes to houses and organization. I’ve been stalking The Home Edit—an organization company out of Nashville—on Instagram. Every post feels like a bit of fairy dust magic: a drab, disorganized, sloppy refrigerator seems beyond help, but wait! *Poof*—it is now organized in rainbow color (yes: the fridge contents are indeed color-coordinated), and a miracle has happened before my very eyes. Will I actually eat the radishes in my vegetable drawer once they are assigned to a cohesive red and pink zone? Perhaps I will try.
Closets, playrooms, toy storage, crafting stations, garages… the clutter is transformed into something wonderful and useable. Chaos and commotion convert to quiet calm.
It’s remarkable how a simple change in conditions can lift one’s spirits and lighten a load.
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A few weeks ago, I wrote a post detailing our wait for another scan to determine whether cancer had returned and metastasized to my lungs. I am thrilled and delighted—no, that’s not strong enough—I’m overjoyed and giddy to share our good news: those scans showed no cancer.
Ty reminded me a few days ago that I’m now seven months NED (No Evidence of Disease), which is the longest time I’ve been without cancer in the past two years. I’m not coughing. I’m not feeling winded. I’m not obsessively checking my skin for bumps. My hair is starting to grow back in.
Besides a few expected side effects, I feel basically normal.
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The thing about cancer is that you never know what it will do. There is expected behavior of cancer, but, as my oncologist once said, “Cancer does what cancer wants to do.” I suppose my last two years have been living proof of that uncomfortable truth. You never feel quite safe. You never know what’s around the corner. I am cancer-free, but we live with the reality of the statistics: there’s a chance it will come back in the next few years. It takes real grit and determination not to live in a fearful, anxious place.
Eden graduated from preschool a couple of weeks ago. Ty and I took our seats in the audience, and we waited for the program to begin. Parents and grandparents shuffled in around us. The flurry of movement and fluttering of papers buzzed. I sat, looking through the printed program with Ty next to me. He took my hand and squeezed it. I looked over; he was silently sobbing. His voice cracked, You’re here. I’m just so glad you’re here.
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One of the only podcasts that I listen to regularly is called simply, SPACE. It is produced by Harbor Ministries, and it essentially is just a portion of scripture read three times with a bubbling brook in the background. Maybe this sounds like utter boredom to you, but I find it calming and anxiety-reducing. I listen in my car on my way to work. I listen when I take a walk. I repeat it again and again because I need it. I want it to take root in my mind and heart.
It always opens with a short introduction, a story of some kind. This week, the narrator starts off by telling us a bit about his past year:
I don’t know about you, but sometimes when life’s going really good, I kinda sabotage it, saying, “Well, what’s around the corner? There’s gotta be something coming.”
And this past year has been the most difficult year of my life. I’ve felt things that I’ve never experienced before. I’ve had moments with God that I’ve never had before: good and bad. Anger, frustration, times where I was just getting through moment by moment. … I’ve really been through the battle—one of the battles of my life, for sure.
It seems to me that we are at this stage of life where we carry joy and sorrow at the same time. Maybe in our younger years, we carried mostly joy, and we crossed our fingers that sorrow wouldn’t come in. But as life goes on, things happen, we lose people that are dear to us, we carry a sorrow for the reality of this broken world. And at the same time, we carry joy. Sometimes great joy, sometimes just small, beautiful moments—beauty in the midst of the ashes we are facing. I’ve definitely experienced that… I remember pulling out of my driveway and feeling the sunshine on my face and it about brought me to tears. That’s never happened before, when life was good. But when life is heavy, even a moment like that, you’re just thankful that God gives us a new day, and his mercies are there.
Yes. Yes, and Amen.
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Matthew 5 (The Message)
You are blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you, there is more of God and his rule.
You are blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
You are blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.
You are blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.
It is fair and right to say that I would not have chosen the last two years for myself or my family. But I am not God, and He did choose it for us. And it is also fair and right to say that we have become more familiar with those above truths from Matthew. I have been at the end of my rope. I have lost what was dear to me. But I’ve also become much more content with who I am, and most certainly, my priorities have shifted—in many ways, my mind and heart have been put right.
The Bible calls this Blessed. We often think of blessing as financial success or a life of ease; we think of a person that seems to have no problems. But I’m drawn to the Jewish word Shalom, which means an inward sense of completeness, contentment, a whole-life flourishing. Shalom is a deeper blessedness, inner, abiding peace, regardless of circumstances. Shalom is the ultimate blessedness.
I don’t think that this kind of blessing comes from a life of ease.
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At the start of my diagnosis, a friend gave me a daily devotional by Charles Spurgeon, and I open it often for reflection. Usually, there is a verse at the top, along with Spurgeon’s quick application of the subject. Just after our good news was confirmed, my evening page read as follows:
Afterward. -Hebrews 12:11
That was the verse. Just the one word. Afterward.
His follow-up reads, “People are happy after their trials. No calm is deeper than one that follows a storm. We all rejoice in the sun after the rain.” He says, “…harsh plowing yields a joyful harvest. Even now, we grow rich by our losses, rise by our falls, live by dying, and become full by being emptied.”
I think that we all know in our deepest core that this is right. No, we don’t want the struggle. Yes, we avoid suffering at all costs. And yet, Shalom—whole-life flourishing— grows out of the painful places. The organized, tidy closet is most appreciated when we lived with the mess it was before. The calm that comes after a terrifying storm is cherished because there was a terrifying storm.
Gratitude, mindfulness, and a celebratory spirit are born in adversity and relished in the afterward. I think I can speak for Ty when I say we find ourselves there right now.
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Ty and I have called this our Year of Yes. We are taking all the trips and doing all the things. It’s a celebration of life, family, marriage, friendships, and all of the good adventures we can enjoy together. I am here. This summer is a whirlwind of travel and experience, and fun.
But we also take a step back as we fix our eyes on this little family and the tender, daily moments that God has given us together. I want a summer of grilling out on the back patio, lightning bugs, watermelon dripping down my chin, and teenage sleepovers. I’ll take the melting popsicles, long walks with Margie Sparkles, try new recipes, plan date nights with Ty.
I want to cherish the calm and celebrate our simple togetherness. I want to feel the sunshine on my face and give thanks.
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I finish up this blog on Memorial Day. It seems fitting to wrap it up today—a day set aside for remembering. We remember what we’ve been through, collectively and individually. We reflect on what we’ve lost; what has been sacrificed. We rejoice and give thanks for where we are.
We will not sit and fret about what might be around the corner. We celebrate our blessedness—that what we have come through has given us more of what we actually needed.
Tonight, I am gathering with old friends. We will grill out, while I sit in a lawn chair, idly chatting and laughing with people that are dear to me. The girls will play with their friends. They may or may not catch lightning bugs, but I will most definitely let the watermelon drip down my chin.
PS If you’d like to listen to the Space podcast I mentioned above, find it right here. Enjoy!
