My children are a feeling bunch. Tender, expressive hearts beat in each of their chests. Putting them to bed tonight, I listened as each expressed that sweet sadness that comes the night before you have to go home. I told them I felt it too. 

Tomorrow we head back to Raleigh, leaving behind Ocean Isle Beach, but carrying with us sweet memories of our time here. There was hardcore playing with cousins, and pier fishing, and pool games, and boogie boarding, and wave jumping, and hide and seek with the Pearson boys, and chasing our puppy in the sand, and trips to Sunset Slush. It was glorious. 

So those tears I saw streaming down Jack’s face tonight? They were a gift to me. 

They were good tears.

 Those wet eyes told me that despite our vacation having a very different feel this summer – Mommy wasn’t here half the time, nor had the ability to play on the beach when she was – my children had a great time. 

Boy. I’m getting choked up as I write this. 

He tried, but the thief didn’t rob us this go around. 

Take that, cancer. 

Having spent five days in Raleigh recovering from her third round of chemotherapy, Anne arrived back in Ocean Isle on Sunday. Boy are we glad to have her back. She was sorely missed, the children especially feeling it. 

I can definitely tell this round put a beating on her. She’s moving slower, sleeping more, and enduring higher levels of nausea than before. 

It made me think of her chemo regimen as a boxing match. She’s in the ring with a formidable opponent, and midway into the first round she gets a hard right to the left jaw. Knocks her back, stumbling. But she shakes it off, regains her composure, bounces back and finishes round 1. Rest in the corner. 

Round 2 is somewhat the same. The knocks come, but she stays on her feet, albeit wobbly at times from well-placed punches. 

Round 3 starts. She seems to be hanging tough – good bounce in her step – and then suddenly comes a hard blow to the head. Knocks her flat on her back. Conscious but visibly hurt, she staggers back to her feet. She fights her way through the round, but you can tell that blow took the wind out of her. 

Looking in, that’s my sense for how this round 3 is going for her. My Annie is hanging tough, but this last round brought a harder-hitting punch. 

I am really proud of my wife. She is doing it. Fighting.  Resting. Believing. Receiving. Rejoicing. Mourning. Loving. Clinging. Enduring. Hoping. Facing…the thief, the opponent in the ring. 

I wrote all of this while sitting beside her bed as she napped just now.  And I couldn’t wait to include this picture of her bedside table. It tells a story/paints a picture, but it doesn’t need my illumination. Here’s what you see:

• Four bottles of specially-filtered water
• Tums
• A tube of lip balm
• A book by Jim Gaffigan
• The Bible

 Don’t we love some Anne Fletcher?

 

Anne’s had a good week.

The sparkle in those big brown eyes returned, no longer dimmed by the potent effects of chemotherapy drugs.The severe fatigue and nausea have abated this third week. It’s felt good. And normal.

She kicked the soccer ball with Jack. Did a little bit of counseling. Watched the ESPYS. Lent her extraordinary staging abilities to a client. Shopped for groceries. Played the piano (she’s written a few songs).

Next week she’ll have her third of six chemotherapy infusions. Sadly, it will mean she has to leave Ocean Isle Beach early, where we’ll be celebrating our annual vacation with her family. Booooo. She put it well: “It’s like showing up at the playground knowing the school bully is going to punch you in the gut.”

Yet my girl continues to embrace her hardship with hope, courage, and dependence on the Lord for daily grace.

With gratitude,

Van

I sat down at my desk this morning to get a jump start on this sunny, hot Friday and smiled.

Staring at me are four teenagers, perched around my office, one of whom is pictured here (Raphael I think, according to Wikipedia).

  
Shortly after I wrote my May 25th blog post sharing Anne’s cancer diagnosis, entitled “Wow + Ninja Prayers,” these four teenage crime fighters showed up. I later found out that my fun, thoughtful colleague Barbara O’Rourke had dug them out of her attic and snuck them in. They haven’t moved.

I’ll come back to my TMNT friends in just a minute.

Update on Anne: I think she’s doing really well, all things considered.

All things considered…

I find myself often using that phrase when friends and acquaintances ask how she’s doing.  From my vantage point, “all things considered” for Anne means “considering poisonous medicine is being pumped into her body every three weeks with the lovely side effects of hair loss, fatigue, nausea, and achy body, among other things.”

Considering that reality, here’s what I see: Anne is enduring this difficult season of treatment remarkably well, a testimony to her strength and God’s real, tangible, sustaining grace in her life. She doesn’t feel sorry for herself, yet she doesn’t pretend things are hunky-dory. She’s not consumed by worry, yet she acknowledges the scary, unknown aspects of her illness. She cries, and she laughs. She focuses on caring for others – especially Jack, Luke, and Sarah – yet she knows when she has to care for herself.  She hates her cancer, and yet – get this – she is thankful for it. She is, as crazy as that sounds. Why?  Because it is drawing her nearer to Jesus, and she feels it. And I see it.

My Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle friends reminded me of several things this morning. First, the ninja medicine is working. Her tumor is shrinking. Awesome. Lord, thank you for great medicine. Second, your ninja prayers are specifically activating God’s grace in Anne’s life. She would emphatically amen that. Lord, thank you for faithful friends who care for us.

You know who else is praying ninja prayers?  Jesus Himself. Listen to this: “Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us.” (Rom 8:34)  And then in Hebrews 7:25, we’re told “Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.”

How cool is THAT? Our Savior is presently, actively, passionately praying to God the Father on Anne’s behalf. Let’s admit it. Even those of us who are diligent in praying (not I) can’t hold a candle to the ongoing, never-ceasing, perfect prayers of Jesus the King. He’s sitting there in heaven, at God’s right hand, asking our Heavenly Father to pour out his blessings, healing, strength, wisdom, and grace on Anne Brittain Fletcher.

Lord, thank you for Jesus’ love and intercession for Anne.

Love to you all,

Van

I’m here at North Hills Club with my little posse, enjoying some pool time on this glorious 4th of July.

The kids and I miss Mommy, who needed to hang back and double down on rest while the ninja medicine does its thing.  It’s one of the ways in which the summer feels different; normally she’s here splashing and playing and applying sunscreen.

The miss and ever-lurking sadness caused by her thief had put me in a somewhat brooding mood of late. There’s a brilliant book written by Dr. Seuss that was published posthumously in 1996 called My Many Colored Days.  I enjoy pulling it out periodically for bedtime reading.

Moods and feelings are vividly depicted as individual colors that span the range of human emotion. My point in sharing isn’t so much to slide in a book recommendation (though you should buy it; the illustrations are marvelous) as it is to say – in an admittedly long-winded fashion – that I’ve felt “purple” the last several days.

In keeping with my mood, I had begun a blog post that was focused on some of the hidden  sorrows that shove their way into your heart when your spouse is fighting cancer.

Then, at what I can only call the Lord’s prompting, I recalled the hope-giving, gospel-induced, heart-changing benefits of giving thanks (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18). It doesn’t erase sadness or put some sort of Christian permasmile on our faces (as if that were the mark of a true Christian…Jesus is called the Man of Sorrows). Rather, it reminds you Who you belong to, how He loves you, and all of the ways in which He gives good gifts to His children, even in the midst of brokenness and suffering.

My heart pivoted.  Boy is my Heavenly Father good to the Fletchers. I started furiously jotting down things I was thankful for on a ketchup-stained napkin…

• North Hills Club, a happy place for my children.
• Grilled cheese sandwiches and French fries.
• Sunshine.
• Our school. Anne has remarked time and again how thankful she is for the ways in which our school community has cared for us.
• Manning Pruden. She loves and serves our family – both on the business and personal front – BIG.
• Inside Out. A great summer movie. It delighted my kids.
• Laura Allen and Erin Bruns, our nannies. Laura just took off for a year-long mission trip to Costa Rica, and we have Erin for the summer before she goes back to teaching. Both know our children so well and love them specifically, deeply.
• The flexibility my work allows. Working for yourself has perks, like being able to take off an entire Thursday afternoon to go to Frankie’s Fun Parks for Luke’s 8th Birthday.
• My mom and dad, who have been sweet encouragers to Anne. Mom (“Mimi” to Jack, Luke & Sarah), because she is a hard-wired encourager, has been through it herself, and gets it. Dad (“PopPop”), because this is part of his chosen field of medicine, and he’s a durn good Doc.
• The extraordinary medical system in the Triangle. We have exceptional doctors and a network of resources at our fingertips that I pray we never take for granted.
• Artificial turf. 🙂 It’s the bomb people.
• Meals. I can’t think of a single greater blessing we experience on a daily basis than the food you bring to our doorstep each evening. Tangible reminder of God’s provision.
• Cute caps.  A few of you have actually hand-made caps for her little bald noggin. Anne can rock the skull-cap like none other.
• Our church. Christ the King isn’t a wealthy church, but it’s a rich church. Rich in living out the good news that in Christ we are redeemed sinners with an inheritance that will never fade thanks to what Jesus did on the cross. Rich in mercy. Rich in fellowship. Rich in the gospel of grace.
• Suzanne Matthews, Anne’s mom. She’s practically lived with us since the middle of May, faithfully caring not just for Anne but for our family. If I could clone Suzanne, I would be a wealthy man. And then would buy her an island or something.
• All-o-y’all who are praying. Thank you for your faithfulness.

You know what?  Bright blue is my new color. 

Flapping my wings,

Van

 

Dear Cana,

I have very good news to share with you!  God is graciously hearing and answering your prayers.  I went to the doctor yesterday to get more ninja medicine and she told me that the cancer is shrinking significantly.  The tumor is much smaller!

I also want to thank you for drawing a picture of what these pink ninjas actually look like.  I’ve been wondering!  Since they are so tiny in real life, it’s a little hard to tell.  And boy does that cancer look terrified!

Sweet friend, I remember holding you when you were a wee little baby.  Your mommy and daddy, and my husband, Van, and I shared some wonderful memories in Philadelphia while  in seminary together.  I pray that as you continue to grow up, you will know how very much our Jesus loves you and how very near he is when things are hard.  He never leaves us and holds us close always.

Tell your family hi for me and thank them for the super fun care package.  I’m especially excited about all the lollipops!

Love,

Ms. Anne

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, and faithful in prayer.  Romans 12:12