Spilling Out

It is Christmastime at Rambellwood.  All of our lights, the white stars that adorn our home, wrapping around a stairwell, around a porch, are holding their own against the cold winter weather.  All of the boxes are unpacked, and much of our evenings are spent in the living room, lulled by the gentle cracking of the wood stove and the glimmer of our Christmas tree.

Remember, how the Lord spoke, a while back?  That when He had finished His work in all of us, He would bring us back together again?  Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm sentimental, but I think this is the time.  Here we are, preparing for a season that, for us, means spending time together, celebrating our unity as a family, celebrating each other, and celebrating Him.  And, here in our midst, He stands, slowly granting us the deepest desires of our hearts, even the ones we cannot put into words.

Yes... dear friends, there is news, great and wonderful news.  We might even call it a miracle.  This story is not over, but God's part among the pages is clearer than ever.

So, here it is.  Mom had a test, two weeks ago, a PET-CT that lights up problem areas to show activity.  One week ago, the results came in, and Dad called our doctor in California to hear the results.

At the beginning, when we first found out the tumors in Mom's body were really and truly cancer, and heard how quickly they were invading her liver, the world we held in our hands shook from our grasp.  We had to let go.  We had to lay our fears and our worries and our sorrows at the feet of the Lord.

And guess what?  Now, seven months later, the reports show that there is little, to no, activity in Mom's liver.  The only activity shown is shadows, shadows our doctors believe to be scar tissue.  Only shadows!  Can you believe it?  Can we believe it?  My heart still trembles at the incredible truth of it.

No... this is not the end of the story.  We have no definite report on the other areas of Mom's body, and the test showed a lighted area in her thyroid that had not been there before.  Our doctor tells us the test would show a path from one tumor to the other if these were malignant.  So... there is no, "this is over... it's all gone" report, but there is physical evidence that cannot be denied.  Mom has been slowly lowering her heavy pain medication, and by the end of this month, may be completely without it.  The only effects of this have been withdrawal symptoms caused by the heavy narcotic.  There has been NO pain.  How amazing is that?  What glorious truth shows in that thought!  She has no evident pain caused by cancer.  When she is not dealing with withdrawal, she is her normal, busy, motivated, amazing self.  No matter what the tests say, the proof stands before us.  Mom is regaining her strength, and her hair.  I smile at the thought, because it seems so trivial, but, in the face of such news, it seems a gift beyond belief.

So... here's the deal.  Mom has been denied Medicaid because her type of cancer is not primarily breast or cervical.  Though the alternative treatment is considerably less money, it is all on our own budget.  The Issels protocol includes things like high dose Vitamin C from an IV, scheduled lab work and imaging, a solid, organic diet, daily vegetable juicing, and numerous supplements.  But these things, like so many good things, cost money.  At this point, our fund is all but empty, and our own bills are hard to maintain as it is.  It is frightening, to look at it logically, to stare in the face of money, and attempt to shake away the cold finger of the red numbers.

But... there is something much greater than all of this, something that does not go away, not ever.  How, again, can I put into words these mixed feelings of blessing and lack?  What is money, when there are such joys as we have been given?  What is hardship, when all of us walk it together?  What is life, when we follow our Father's path?  It is a blessing, each and every day.  Every moment of our lives is emblazoned with the truth of God, if only we can see it.

So, here on this page, my fingers are spilling our story into words.  And here, from the bottom of my heart, and from all of us at Rambellwood, is a....

Merry Christmas!

Praying you all the brightest and best of Christmases, crowded with the joys that only He can give.

Emma,
and all of us