He holds her

This past weekend we had a rescheduled trip. We let the guys come along this time. In April of last year, we had planned a "girl's trip" to the beach. It was early one morning the week before the trip that I received a text. One I definitely was not expecting...."I can't go on the trip. I think I have breast cancer."

Shock. Panic. Faith. Can all of those feelings be wrapped up in a few seconds. Yes, I am sure they can.

I remember falling on my face. Praying and crying. I called Josh. He did the same. Maybe not falling...he was at work but his tone, his concern. I knew he was doing the same thing.

I have an unique perspective. As a medical professional and friend. My mind races. When I first started as a nurse, I worked in oncology. I gave chemo. I loved patients and their families. I've held their hands and seen last breaths. I've experienced sacred. The medical professional, well, we learn to be stoic. The friend, not so much. The friend loses it.

We met Lisa and Doyle in 2008. We were at a party and our boys were playing. We talked all night and if you some of you know all of us...I am sure you can see how that was possible. :) Our sons ended up in the same pre-school class the next year and the rest is history.


So, this weekend was a time to reflect. Time to rejoice. After almost a year of diagnosis, chemo, hair loss, weight loss, mastectomy, reconstructive surgery, reconstructive surgery gone wrong, more chemo, scans after scans...Lisa is cancer-FREE. She continues her journey this week. Radiation. Hysterectomy. Reconstructive Surgery. We were just sitting on the couches talking. Shocker I know.

And I saw it.

 I can still picture it in my mind and it moves me to tears. Lisa was talking about His faithfulness through tears and laughter. She mentioned her thoughts on dying. That cancer is now part of her reality.  Although we know our God is healer and she is CANCER-FREE...(did I mention that), she has found joy in the fight of fear and faith. Joy that found her during the darkest moments that I am not privy to. Joy that found her when she was vomiting and bed bound. Joy that gets her through each day.

That kind of joy is strength. Strength found through scars. Nail scars. And that moment in the mountains, I saw it. Sun beaming in on her as she sat snuggly on the couch just talking. Sacred.

I saw what it is to know you are held.

I kissed her (almost) bald head when we left and said, "I love you." I couldn't have hugged her if I wanted to. I would have fallen apart. But when we got in the car, I looked at Josh and cried.

The Savior of the world. He holds her.