I’m realizing that there’s this hard, weird phase between first receiving the diagnosis of cancer and the actual commencement of treatment. The best way I know to describe it is like taking your kids on a road trip in the minivan.

First of all, there’s some intrinsic flaw in every minivan that creates volume control problems in children. As soon as kids step through the automatic sliding door, they no longer can hear themselves talk. That, despite the fact that carmakers have made the interiors of minivans about as plush and quiet as a Lexus.

All of us drivers possess some measure of grace to tune out the ruckus, laughter explosions, and petty arguing. But at some point, the backseat noise starts beating you down. Staying focused on the road requires exponentially more concentration. You unknowingly ignore the GPS barking at you to turn right at Exit 293. You start tailing people in the right lane. The second loop of Frozen makes you long for a cool, quiet coffin. You feel the overwhelming urge to pull over, give the keys to your spouse, and walk the rest of the way by yourself. In the rain.

In this season, cancer creates noise through uncertainty. At times it’s loud…Did it spread? Will I die? What will happen to the kids?  At other times, it’s less clamorous…How will I respond to chemo? I’ve got to go wig-shopping? Can we keep our vacation plans? How do I keep working?

What I’m discovering is that for the Fletchers this season of uncertainty before the chemo, radiation, and surgery – when the physical pain for Anne will become the predominant form of suffering – is much tougher than I anticipated. Personally, the noise has caught up with me these last two days. I feel white-knuckled, distracted, disjointed, fatigued, and emotionally carved up into big chunks of worthlessness. In fact, yesterday I found myself wandering into the Avengers movie by myself at 6:00 p.m., and all I remember is that the Hulk fell in love with Black Widow.

The cancer has been yelling in the backseat for too long, but by the grace of God we continue to walk in faith that we have great doctors, and more importantly, we have a BIG Jesus who can quiet the noisy storm with only two words: “Be Still.”

Pray for the noise to diminish for us. For our rest and renewal. Even more, pray that we’d hear the comforting voice of our gentle Shepherd…

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
²     He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
³     He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
    for his name’s sake.

⁴ Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
    I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
    your rod and your staff,
    they comfort me.

⁵ You prepare a table before me
    in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
    my cup overflows.
⁶ Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
    all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
    forever.