the crying game.

so tonight i had a weeping spell. you know, the kind that starts in the shower and eventually ends up under the covers in your bed? i sniffled and pouted for a few minutes over the things i wish i had control over, the things i tell myself that are nowhere close to what He says about me, and the things i fear most. i'm a girl, y'all. it's what we do. sometimes the salty tears before bed make us even more thankful for the joy that comes with morning, i think.
and though i rarely do this, i decided to just flop open my bible to whatever passage it may reveal, and pray that i would find calm in however many verses of reading it took. no set plan, no devotion chapter tonight. just whatever. i sometimes scoff at such a strategy, 'cause the psalms are invariably what opens up. i love those songs o' david, don't get me wrong - i just want a little variety when throwing open the Word (can i say that?).
even so, i didn't have to read too far to appreciate the psalms my bible took me to this evening, as i climbed into the bed of my sister's guest room and hoped for somethin' hearty to meet my eyes. at the top of page 676, two verses were as far as i advanced.
"those who plant in tears will harvest with shouts of joy. they weep as they go to plant their seed, but they sing as they return with the harvest." // psalm 126:5-6
i think i can now stash away the kleenex box for another time.

the c-word.

long time, no see. :) my spontaneous absence from this little corner has made me antsy, and with so much going on this semester, i have more to say now than perhaps ever before. but one week ago today, things changed.
i learned my mom has breast cancer.
i swear, it was as if someone had hit me in the chest and taken the breath right out of me.
and then, i came to my senses.
this is no reason to begin doubting His sovereignty. this is no situation over which He is not already in control. and this is certainly no time to forget that He is a God of victory.
the odds are completely in our favor, both literally and figuratively. the cancer is limited to one area, and the fact that my sister is a top-notch mammographer has given us a distinct advantage in understanding which way to go next. :)
this is the beginning of the story: some days, i still get sad. i still want to cry alone in the shower some nights, and i have my moments where i feel alone and helpless. i would love nothing more than to be at all of my mom's appointments and feel as if i'm making myself useful in her fight. i want to go home. i'm angry that her life is being disrupted and that she faces treatment options that are less than enjoyable.
this is the end of the story: next year, our family will run at race for the cure as we do every fall. this time, we'll get to watch our mom walk the survivor's lap.

to keep up with more specific ways you can pray for my sweet mama, go here: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=180170654248&ref=mf