Tara has been feeling much better each of these last few days. Food sits well. Her days have been productive and fun. This is the best stretch since before the surgery. She has chemo on Friday and that will end the second to the last round. Then 3 more weeks…hopefully… and she is DONE.

We are in a week full of family fun. My brother and his family from Arkansas are here now and my sister with her family from Kansas City will be here on Thursday, when my brother leaves. The kids are loving the cousins and Tara and I, time with family we love.

God is sustaining us in the new normal; in the midst of busy work, mundane chores, and beautiful family relationships. However we still keep looking forward to the next phase of life and hoping it will be better so we can change then. We have to be careful. We need to learn how to grab life now. To leave nothing unsaid. To have no regrets each day. Regardless of the pressures of life. That will take constant reminders.

It was 4 years ago that my brother and his family last came to hang out for Independence Day. When we get together we always lose our brains when it comes to sleep, eating and explosives. Are we all that different from other men? I don’t think so.

As it should be, we went for the big one to impress our wives and children. We had dozens of fireworks lined up ready to light simultaneously. Ready, set, GO! We started lighting and as we continued, the sparks from the first ones were landing on us. A few burns ended our bravery and we darted out of the chaos, tripping over each other, and rolling to safety. I ended up in a cast from an injured thumb. Sparks had burned through our shirts and left painful blisters on our backs. I can say that it was one of the best times I have ever had on the fourth of July. This year we bought more and bigger fireworks and I cannot wait to see what happens.

This toughness (or rather stupidity) is from a lack of respect for the consequences. We know we are going to hurt and we don’t care. The consequence doesn’t deter us one little bit.

It has been 152 days now. Tara and I are well beyond trying to figure out if we are tough enough to set aside the pain and press on. We just go. Every day. And I think that is working. Friends and family sustain us in prayer. We call on God in dark hours. We’ll live with little burns on our backs and we won’t come bailing out of there tripping over each other. We respect the consequences, but with respect, we plan to keep going.

There was a secret tree fort. I don’t remember how we found it, we just stumbled across it one day when we were looking for a place to build one of our own. It wasn’t even our property, nor close to our house. It was out by the Woodlands racetrack and past some baseball fields we played at. We were the only ones who knew of it, although someone had built it, maybe a decade before, and I suspect they still knew it was there.

We would go there sometimes when there was nothing else to do. It was deep enough in the woods where no one could find us. A faint trail through the grass, then into the trees, over a few hills thick with underbrush and canopy overhead. We nearly got lost each time we went.

Secret places were the best place to talk candidly for some reason. It was away from the normal; from the places we had to act a certain way. And we allowed ourselves to be vulnerable. And once I broke my brother’s trust there and still wish to take that back.

Sitting at 300 First, Tara and I went to a secret place tonight. Birthdays are a great time for this kind of reflection. We had some deep conversation. As we always do, we discussed our fears, our hopes and dreams. But there are some places that I still cannot go. We start that direction but I cannot face it. Tara went there without me. She said earlier in the day she cried not knowing if this would be her last birthday. Then she brought me there, saying, “What will you do if I am gone?” Now we are both sitting there. In the tree fort. I kept trying to climb down and get out of there, but she wouldn’t let me. I had to answer and enter the conversation I dread.

Even when we go to that place we went tonight, there is hope. Tara and I might still be talking about this in 20 years. That would be awesome. But the thing that gives us hope beyond measure is the person, character and goodness of God. No matter what happens. We know he has us right where he wants us; completely dependent on him. We know all of this is in his control, and he is shaping us to be most glorifying to him, and therefore in the long run, most satisfying to us. Why can we not have these conversations when all is well?

As I lay in bed with my sleeping wife, on her birthday, I can’t help but think of the ways I am thankful for her. I recount the years of our relationship and smile. I cannot capture the essence of Tara with words. It is not fair to immortalize her with flattery. The best I can do for her is show her life accurately in the words of this blog.

In April of 1996 we moved to Burlington, Iowa. The ensuing 4 years were potentially the most significant in her life, and mine. She always desired a career but chose to follow me on my career path. It wasn’t like I was making a lot of money or anything, she just did it…for me. At each stop (Kansas City, Memphis, and now Burlington) she worked a job, each time being promoted and valued just in time to move on. Kids were not on the radar for either of us and we were debating, 2 or 3.

In 1998 she decided to pursue the next phase of her education. Over the next few years she earned (and I mean earned) a Masters degree at Western Illinois University. It was an hour either direction. She took 20+ credits each semester. She worked her job the entire time. She rocked the program and was promoted at work.

At the same time, she was gaining a passion for the word of God through inductive bible study, and was most struck by the knowledge that her identity was in Christ. Her life wasn’t about who she was, rather who she was in Christ. I remember well when this clicked in her heart. Her head knew it for years, but once her heart knew it her life changed dramatically. Our marriage improved. Her joy at work improved. She became more content. She was good with who she was; degree, career, or not.

Her education, work and faith intersected at that point. She had achieved what she wanted in her education and career simultaneous with her heart knowledge of her identity in Christ. I was in awe watching it all. Any way it went from that point was good with me. It was then that she desired children. In 1999, to our joy, we got pregnant. She desired to be home with the baby, once again setting her career aside.

I am not describing those 4 years well enough. God was at work in her life like I had never before seen. It was a drastic change. A new course. And now I lay in bed with my wife of 19 years, 5 kids later, cancer stricken, tired of battling. But joy still remains because of those 4 years where she wrestled with who she was and found out. Later, I’m pretty sure we will look back and find out that the years from 2013-?? were also significant.

The hardest part of growing up was endurance. School was broken up into semesters and every 4 months, no matter how bad it was going, the semester was going to end and you could start over the next semester. And the peak of school was finals, after which you had summer break. Things were always resetting.

To set my expectations even higher, both of my parents were educators. They had about 2 weeks around Christmas and every summer off (which is why my siblings either had September or March birthdays). I just thought all parents had 8+ weeks off in the summer and 2 weeks for Christmas. It seemed like every year reset for them too, even though the reality is that it didn’t

Things don’t reset for most people I know. Every day life is intense and there is no completion date. It keeps accumulating. The troubles that arise won’t ever just reset to default settings. You have to deal with it; now or eventually. There are no finals or summer break. The best we have is a weekend. Maybe that is why they are so appreciated.

Today was chemo day for Tara. Blood work looked good. She also got fluid drained. Another 2.5 Liters. We often think how nice it would be to hit the reset button and go back to the default or factory settings, which doesn’t include cancer, of course.

After my first kayak race I looked for a place close to home to practice, or simply to get out and spend time on the quiet water. Wyandotte County Lake was the perfect place, other than the fact they did not allow kayaks. I never liked “no” for an answer, so I took the matter to the County board who had oversight of the lake operations.

Little did I know that newspaper reporters sat in on these meetings just in case there was a little morsel of news to report on. And there was. At my presentation I may have exaggerated a bit, because the headline of the Wyandotte County Star article read “Local Paddler, Olympic Hopeful”. And did I ever catch crap from my friends about that. But mom and dad didn’t laugh. They just wondered if I was going to be in Barcelona in 1992 or Atlanta in 1996.

I also believed I could. Whatever big dream I had, I knew I could do it. And I learned how to chase dreams a little later in life. All the adventures my parents allowed paid off in confidence that I could do it. I could be dropped off in the middle of nowhere and figure out how to get home. I could start a painting business. I could canoe a class 5 rapid. I could survive without food and water for 3 days. I could overcome intense fear and still make good decisions. I can lead my family through a crisis.

Wait a minute. Somewhere in the last 5 months, I realized that I am not capable of this one. The endurance required of this challenge wore me out and broke me. And we may only be through a small part of the race. I can’t continue. Maybe for the first time in my life I will have to depend on strength I don’t have. Where will that strength come from? My strength must now, finally, come from the living God; the creator of the universe; the giver of life; my provider; my helper; my comforter; my rock; my savior. Jesus.

That is overwhelming relief. Joy. Peace. Rest for my soul.

We had plans for redoing our kitchen. We had plans to camp more this year, including family camp in August. We planned some landscaping around the house; little projects that we could have done periodically throughout the summer. The kids were going to do sports. That was just through this summer. Then we had plans for fall football (actually that is just me) and Haiti again this winter. We had planned a 20 year anniversary trip over New Years.

Then there are the big items that we naturally plan in our heads, like growing old together, watching our children grow up, watching them find a career and possibly a mate. I still dream of saying “Her mother and I do.” to the question “Who gives this woman to be married?”

These are our plans, and we are fine with planning knowing we are not guaranteed that stuff. Much of this stuff we will still be able to accomplish. But this summer we are engaging in a planning process that may rock our world and I am excited about it. We will be planning for our roles in our kids’ big events. Events like high school and college graduation, finding a soul mate, their first child, etc. We are making videos from both of us individually, as if we will not be there. It will force us to identify our feelings and communicate them to our children in a way that will be meaningful to them if we are not around.

Think about the conversations that Tara and I will have making those videos. There will be buckets of tears and tons of intimate moments just appreciating everything we have together. I would recommend that for every couple actually. What a great exercise in determining what you would most want to say; what legacy you will leave behind. My guess is that it will change the way we live.

God directs our path, regardless of the plans we make. I am good with that. I just wish he would tell me where my path was taking me so I could plan it out a bit better for him.

This road is becoming long and hard. Questions arise that we have not encountered before; or at least we haven’t admitted it until now. What is the purpose of this for our family? Is God making a difference? Is He even there? Will Tara ever get long-lasting relief? Will I be able to continue working at this pace all summer? Can I find any purpose in work?

Tara is accumulating fluid again and it is already uncomfortable. She has an appointment on Friday to get it drained immediately after chemo. That should last another 2 weeks until we are back at the same point. Will we ever be back to normal? We thought by now we would be looking back at this instead of being right in the middle of it; the hardest part emotionally.

So this safe place, our home, will continue to be a place for honest questions. And we won’t feel the need to find the answers right away. Maybe some will come in time. Some might be retrospective answers, that we learn after the fact. God is big enough to handle tough questions and He doesn’t necessarily feel the need to provide an urgent answer. He is even okay with doubt.

But I must reflect back to things I have seen with my own eyes, and I remember the things that bring convincing evidence to a power that is higher than me. A purpose greater than us. I think about what truly satisfies my soul. I look around at the life changes, in me and others around me. There is no doubt under this evidence. The things God has spoken in his book play out in life. It is true. So allow me to wonder where the heck he is…….because I can’t feel him right now. But I know I will look back and see him clearly caring for us as he has done always before.

Brother trips began in the summer 1991. Mark had just finished high school and I my sophomore year in college. We packed up our backpacks and headed to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA), entering the wilderness outside of Grand Marais. We parked at one of the trailheads where we had a local take our picture. We were in full gear.

In the background of the picture sat mom and dad’s tan Honda Accord with the 4 doors open and the trunk popped. Fortunately that ‘local’ who took our picture lived in sight of the parking lot, because when we returned he informed us that we had left the car exactly as the picture showed it; all 4 doors open and the trunk popped.

Don’t ask me why we decided to hike instead of canoe (a mistake which we will never repeat due to the number of mosquito bites endured), but we were so focused on the mission that we forgot the most basic and obvious thing; to shut the car doors. How could we have missed that?

How could we have missed enjoying the weekend? It just flew by, again. It seems pretty basic that we would have a plan to get a few things done, then we would accomplish those things and then enjoy some time as a family. Easier said than done. The week ended fast and furious. I had to work a bit on Saturday and then Sunday came…and went, and now here we are. It is hard to make a plan when you have no motivation. So we had no plan and got done everything on that list.

Our conversations are getting a bit shallow. We can only talk about the same things so many times. It is no longer moving to think about or talk about our situation. What used to inspire us to live well is now just bogging us down. About the time Tara gets energy, she gets knocked down and has a day in bed. Really it just ticks her off.

So we need to lose focus of the mission, and simply remember to enjoy the day. And sometimes the day will be too much to take in and try to enjoy, and we will simply have to enjoy a moment.

Today Tara was discouraged. She had treatment this afternoon. She was poked 5 times because her veins aren’t holding up like they once did and once the medicine pooled down in her hand and swelled it up. They say that rarely happens. Well they also said that about shingles, fluid build up in the abdomen, and more. She is tired of being called “complicated”. Why can’t it just be simple for once.

But we are nearing the end of chemotherapy. It could be that today was the last combo (Carboplatin and Taxol) treatment and that July 5 is the last Taxol treatment. If not July 5, then one more round to July 26. Dr. Bible is still reluctant to say for sure. The balance between giving Tara enough treatment to kill the cancer and not so much that her body fails in other ways is tricky. The cancer numbers are still going in the right direction and the nutrition and organ function numbers are still holding at mediocre.

So we begin the weekend on empty. We need to be filled. We need time with each other, time by ourselves with God, time to sit and read, time to play with the kids, time to do some chores, time to worship, time to fellowship with friends. We need to recharge our souls so we can handle another week.

Recharging is complicated. What works for me won’t for Tara. What worked for me last week, may not work this week. What recharges me may drain the kids. It is a complicated balance that requires honest communication throughout the weekend.

But it will happen. We will make it; mainly because we cannot stop it from coming or going. And we will handle it in stride, one day at a time.