Only once in my youth did I garner enough courage to jump off the high dive. You fellow intrepid divers will attest that the view from the platform looking down is far more intimidating than the view from the ground.  I’m fairly certain that trying to keep up with my big brothers was the ultimate impetus for taking the plunge.

Chemo round 2 is coming up tomorrow.  Having weathered round one, I’ve gained a  ground-up perspective of this high dive.  The hardest part?  After jumping off and letting gravity do its thing, a big belly flop awaits at the bottom.

I had the privilege of being a fly on the wall at a wonderful Bible study lead by a good friend, David Spickard, for a bunch of third grade boys.  David shared the story of Joshua leading Israel to the edge of the Jordan River at flood stage.  By faith Joshua stepped into the raging waters and God, doing what only God can do, parted those waters, enabling Israel to pass right through.  Once they were safely on Canaan’s side, God had them pause to build a monument to him, consisting of twelve large stones right in the middle of the river.  The monument would remind them and tell the world of God’s faithfulness to the people he had set his heart upon.  After telling this story, David asked the third grade boys, my Jack included, to gather stones and label them with ways God had faithfully provided for them. One by one the kids shared what they had written on their stones, piling them high in the center of their circle.

In preparation for this upcoming high dive jump, I have been gathering my own stones of remembrance.  The stand-out stone during round one of chemo was a promise in Psalm 73: 23-26:

Yet I am always with you;
You hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my
heart and my portion forever.  

I love that the Psalm doesn’t say, “Be strong!”.  Rather, it sings to us the very good news that when we feel at the end of ourselves–weak, hurting, suffering–God Himself is our strength and portion.  He helps, holds, and sustains us.

Our fabulous new logo for this blog, conceived in my husband’s brain and so wonderfully created by Stephen Shingler, captures this journey so perfectly.  In my own strength, I can’t get rid of that thief dropping into my life, trying to steal it.  The work of Christ on the cross is the means by which I face that thief and find – no matter what – hope. (That’s a huge stone, THE stone.)  It simply overshadows that thief.  It overshadows the next high dive with belly flop.

The pain and sickies from chemo fade after several days.  (There’s a stone.)  This has been a good week.  (Another stone.)  Though fatigued, I’ve done normal life stuff and treasured it!  Even took kids through Chick-Fil-A drive-thru to grab lunch.  As we waited for our yummy food, our knows-no-stranger Sarah rolled down her window and informed the young lady serving us, “My mom’s hair fell out and she’s wearing a wig.”  I am willing to bet that was a first for this poor sweet employee!  Takes “my pleasure” to an entirely different level. After a good chuckle, I shared with her my story and God’s goodness to us through it.  Best drive-thru moment ever.

The stones are piled high.

Now, a couple of pictures and a shout-out to our Aunt Carol who so generously made me the CUTEST caps for my noggin.  And my wigs are proving to be quite entertaining.

Oh this is fun…

The Fletchers love art. I’m an admirer, but Anne’s actually an artist (though she would humbly eschew this title). The things I’ve seen her create – from homemade birthday cards to art for clients’ walls – are exceptional. In fact, if you want to really see her artistic talent on display, you ought to see how she stages my clients’ homes. It’s nothing shy of incredible. As I tell my sellers, Anne is my “secret weapon.”

Thankfully, my children are the beneficiaries of her artistic gifts, both in terms of nature (Anne’s artsy genes are present in each of them) and nurture (our dining table is always covered with art projects). We’re also fortunate to send Jack, Luke and Sarah to a terrific school where art is a prized part of the curriculum (St. David’s).

Which brings me to our friend Stephen Shingler.

Stephen is a fantastic, über-talented, wildly popular art teacher at St. David’s. He’s such a cool dude. My boys have enjoyed art lessons with him over the past few summers and always come home energized.

I approached Stephen a few weeks ago with an idea. This blog site allows me to customize a few things, one of which being the “logo,” or picture you see at the top of the page. How neat would it be for a friend to surprise Anne with a visual representation of the blog site’s name, I shared with Stephen.

After uploading what was in my head, I knew he could take it from there.

He nailed it.

Surprise Anne! Surprise to all of you!

With joy,

Van

This morning I arose before Anne, who was sleeping peacefully in a cute pink cap that was given to her by Rebecca Foley, a longtime swimming buddy of mine from childhood and cancer survivor. Thank you, sweet Rebecca.

As I opened the fridge in search of cream for my coffee, I reached past delicious leftover food brought over last night by our dear friend Beth. It made me think about how blessed we’ve been to have so many of you go out of your way to have prepared meals at our doorstep over the last several weeks. Thank you, sweet friends.

Then, at 6:26 a.m., Anne and I receive an email from my good buddy Aaron McKethan, who I’ve known for almost 20 years from our glory days at UNC-Chapel Hill.  True to form, my witty friend writes an email that puts me in stitches, punctuated with a great reminder that our Heavenly Father is a God of restoration.  I immediately asked Aaron for permission to copy and paste his email here, which he granted with one proviso: invite all of you to contribute to his list.

I think it’s brilliant.

Thank you, Aaron, for the gift of humor.  Now, for a good laugh:

I have been thinking that, despite the many serious drawbacks, there are some inherent advantages in temporarily not having your hair during treatment:

1. Shampoo expenses will plummet. Use the resulting savings to purchase dark chocolate.
2. Bed head? Not a problem. Let’s go.
3. Time to spend serous money on some awesome hats. I recommend that you don’t always go the conventional route. Try a Dr. Seuss hat once in a while.
4. Cut in the front of every line. Who would question you?
5. Now’s your chance to tell people you belong in a punk band. Black fingernail polish, lip piercings, and neck tattoos also recommended.
6. Use your new bald-is-beautiful powers to convince Van to go bald as well. You two together sans-hair would make for a memorable Christmas picture.
7. Your swimming pool adventures will be characterized by heretofore unprecedented aerodynamism.
8. As your hair grows back in, you will get to experiment with a range of hairstyles over multiple stages.
9. Warm scarves. Enough said.
10. When your hair returns to its beautiful glory that we all know and love, you will look back at all the photos and remember how God was with you and for you the whole time.

Anne and I look forward to your contributions.

With joy,

Van

I’m sitting across the dining table from my beautiful wife, radiant as ever. Our friend Dana, the owner of Alter Ego hair salon,  just left our house. Laughter and tears filled the kitchen as Dana unveiled Anne’s beauty in a new light.  Thank you, sweet Dana. 

  
A few hours earlier, Sue Scoggins, a dear friend and uber-talented artist whose work Anne adores, dropped in and surprised my bride with a painting of a neat little coastal town in Italy named Cinque Terre. It’s a place that, Lord willing, I’ll take Anne when we’ve run the thief out of town for good. Thank you, sweet Sue. 

  
At the end of a day when you have to shave off your hair, you can still have a good day…when friends give of themselves so generously. 

 So says Anne. And so says I. 

Love to you all. 

Remember that scene from Les Miserables when Fantine gets her head shaved?  That’s the crazy scene I have in my imagination when I picture myself getting my head shaved in the next day or two.  It sounds dramatic, I know.  Honestly, it feels dramatic.  The last time I had hair shorter than my chin was when I was two years old.  Alas, these hairs are falling….and the Lord knows every single one.

I love the first question of the Heidelberg Catechism. It asks, “What is your only comfort in life and death?”  And the answer is worth memorizing…

That I am not my own,
but belong with body and soul,
both in life and in death,
to my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ.
He has fully paid for all my sins
with his precious blood,
and has set me free
from all the power of the devil.
He also preserves me in such a way
that without the will of my heavenly Father
not a hair can fall from my head;
indeed, all things must work together
for my salvation.
Therefore, by his Holy Spirit
he also assures me
of eternal life
and makes me heartily willing and ready
from now on to live for him.

This journey is one of two very real experiences occurring simultaneously, sorrow and gratitude.  Sorrow for all the things that are not as they should be.  Tangible reminders that we live in a fallen world.  Sorrow that one cell in my body went very wrong and out of control.  Sorrow that I will have more losses and scars along the way.  And, today, sadness that my hair is falling out.

And then there’s gratitude.  These ninjas are rocking and rolling in this body of mine.  They are killing fast growing cells.  Every good hair that falls from my head represents a nasty cancer cell slain.  I confess it is certainly a love/hate relationship with my ninjas, but I am thankful for them.  Hair does regrow.  Grateful.  Far more deeply, I am humbly grateful that these losses and scars endured are only achieving for me a greater fellowship with the Man of Sorrows who endured ultimate loss to gain me.

My cancer has unleashed a torrent of love from friends and family, and I can’t even begin to tell you how it ministers to my soul. Letters, meals, fun playdates for my kids, sleepovers for the boys, emails with specific ways you are praying, gifts…the love has poured in ways I couldn’t fathom.  In fact, I never thought there would be a day when a dozen friends offering to shave my head would lead me to say, “I feel the love.”

But boy do I feel the love.

With gratitude,
Anne

if you ever want to know where to find me when I’m sad or stressed (all four of you), a good place to start is Umstead State Park.  It’s peaceful, free of distractions, and beautiful. 

That’s the spot from which I wrote this. 

Sometime earlier today, Anne sent me a short text with a picture attached. 

It was a big clump of hair. 

It actually wasn’t the first clump I had seen – the hair loss started a day or two ago – but this one was considerably larger, and it triggered a wave of sadness in me that I haven’t been able to shake. 

So I came to Umstead to run it out, pray it out, cry it out. 

I had more written at this point, but I’m going to stop here. More tears. And I know my God cares…

 Psalm 56:8 “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?”

I hate cancer. 

GREAT bit of news:

Anne’s genetic testing results came back, and she does not carry the breast cancer gene. 

Which means this little sugar bean is not at a higher risk of developing breast cancer. 

   
 
Mommy and Daddy are both thankful beyond words. 

Chemo round #1…check.  Boy am I glad this first round is done because, well, that’s one round I won’t have to do again!  I sure welcome these feeling-ok-days. Fatigue is the main battle now.  These ninjas are powerful little warriors and doing their job quite well.  There is certainly evidence.

The bodily suffering inherent to cancer has gotten a lot of air time.  Going through treatment (and all its subsequent side effects) is, after all, a very physical experience.  And it’s hard.  Right alongside this physical hardship is my heart, which is just as active as ever.  My experience of this road is as much – if not more – about the turf of my heart.  THE Warrior is steadily at work faithfully refining it.  I’m on the lookout for evidence there, too.

Sara Groves, yet another coffee-date-in-heaven wish (though she is still very much alive!), sings: “From this one place I can’t see very far.  From this one moment I’m square in the dark.  These are the things I will trust in my heart – You can see something else.  Something else.”

When it’s hard – body’s sick and hurting, fears welling up with uncertainties – it’s a fight to see beyond it.  And the amazing grace is this, I don’t have to.  Jesus is not beyond the hard.  He’s in it.  Right smack dab in the middle of it all with me.  The Forerunner has been there, done that, and more.  He delights to be near, in my mess, gripping me, giving his strength as I am weak.  And that’s true with or without cancer.

I’ve come up for a breath for a few days before my next ninja reinforcements on June 30th.  While on long bear hunts (previous post), the feel-better-days are precious.  My daily agenda is bare-bones simple…time to read and pray, play with the kids, walk the dog, walk barefoot on our fake grass (it really is so cool), rest, eat the bounty of food our community is providing, soak in quiet evening moments with Van after the little people are tucked into bed.  I have my eyes peeled to catch glimpses of the “something else” God is wisely orchestrating in and beyond the hard.

Now, brace yourselves.  Let me show you something spectacular.

This may appear to be just a basket full of cards and presents.  No, no!  You are looking at a basket of glory.  Thanks to the creative force (and love) of my dear friend, Manning, I have a basket of glory sitting in my living room.  Friends from near and far, friends new, old, and some I have yet to meet, have lavished on me daily reminders of a Person, Jesus, who is in this hard stuff with me and the goal of it all.  (1 Peter 1:6-7).  The hope of the end of this Story has made its way into a basket in my house.

Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.  And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.  Hebrews 10:23-25.  

Through tears, Anne whispered those three words to me tonight. 

She of course referring to chemo, cancer, the whole shebang.  

Today Anne started a 6-day steroid treatment to cure the “Taxol rash” she’s developed  since her first chemo treatment last Tuesday. If you’ve ever been put on a doctor-prescribed steroid regimen – or worse, your kids have – you know it makes you feel wired, antsy, strung-out, and irritable. (Kids often turn into spawns of satan).  And you don’t sleep.  So for Anne, who is already exhausted, she feels like she’s pulled an all-nighter, run a marathon, and imbibed 14 cups of coffee. 

And that’s just the steroids. 

Here’s a glimpse of what the first post-chemo week has looked like for Anne. 

C-Day: Nine hours at the Duke Cancer Center. Long day. Got her PaTCH drugs. Ninjas unleashed. 

Day 1-2: Tired but not feeling all that terrible. 

Day 3-5: Completely run over by a train. So little energy that she had to rest after walking across the room. “Like lead” (see previous post). 

Day 6-7: starting to rebound, but still tired. Tingly fingers. Itchy. Body still feels off, but feeling a bit more herself. 

Knowing she was fatigued, I asked Anne if she had written anything she wanted me to share with you. She mentioned she had written an email to some friends and said “feel free to share. I’m too tired to edit and post.”

Below is what I copied and pasted from her email. I sure admire her courage, her honesty.  What a trooper. Cancer sucks. 

I am feeling more human. Feeling hit by a truck has diminished to more like being run over by a bike. Great blood count report today (my hemoglobin actually improved from before chemo—what???) and overall good check up with doc. She gave me several high fives in celebration that I weathered first round without any major, unusual incidents.  I have a new arsenal of meds (things like Claritin and Zantac) to help with some side effects for next round. They apparently have a pretty good solution for almost every side effect. Just gotta figure out what the need is for each person. I have to go on a hefty round of steroids to combat a rash from the taxol chemical…and the bummer is my sleep will be impacted. Gotta get rash under control before next round. Specifics to pray for there.

I’ve been sad about my hair the last couple of days. Just about a week left until that crazy side effect becomes a reality. No matter which way you slice it, it just stinks. Sarah sweetly stroked my head this morning and assured me she would still love me without my hair AND God would bring it back. Five year olds can say it so perfectly.  

Kids are doing ok! They snuggled a lot with me while I was in bed a good deal the last four days. Our talks have covered everything from Luke’s birthday wish list to how wonderful it will be when all things are made new and no one gets sick anymore. Priceless.  

Day at a time, learning more about the friendship of Jesus as I walk through some shadows and rejoicing they are only shadows…

Now for our Fletcher highlight…

We just had new artificial turf installed in our little urban backyard. Sarah modeled it this afternoon while we laid down on it together. It looks and feels like grass. Okay, maybe even a little better. 

  

Just now I was walking back from the YMCA (we’re spoiled; it’s literally across the street)  scrolling through messages on my iPhone, when I look up and see my bride sitting in our front yard.

“I just needed to be outside for a little bit,” she says with a weak smile.

With her is our one year-old puppy Tovah, our fun, effervescent Goldendoodle.

  
Normally Tovah would be in our fenced backyard, but it looks like a nuclear wasteland right now (a metaphor for how Anne feels at the moment). You may laugh, but we are installing artificial turf in our little urban backyard. The stuff looks real. Even better, I don’t have to mow it, sod it, seed it, think about it. And it’s dog proof.

    

I digress.

Anne chose Tovah’s name, which is Hebrew for “God is good.”  And this morning at 11:00 a.m. on our front lawn, our Goldendoodle embodied her name beautifully.

Watch this short video all the way to the end.

You’ll see.