Boy I love Thanksgiving. 

It’s escaped commercialization. It centers around gathering. Slowing down. Taking stock. Giving thanks.

This year, Thanksgiving had a different tenor. Having just had chemotherapy yesterday, Anne needed to lay low and rest. So we all did too. 

Game of Monopoly this morning. Then Honeybaked ham and Whole Foods sides, enjoyed around the table as we all voiced what we were grateful for. Naps and scooters and NFL football and pretend play followed. Now the kids are winding down in front of Ratatouille, preparing for bed even as Anne has found refuge in ours.

This year, thanksgiving – that is, giving thanks – has come more easily for the Fletchers. If that strikes you as an odd thing to say in light of our circumstances, I think this quick analogy will illuminate what I mean…

Which traveler is more thankful for the cold glass of water awaiting her: the one who traveled across a hot desert by high-speed train, or the one who walked?  

Listening to my children pray and express the things for which they were thankful, I was struck how our family’s hardship has made my kids better able to see and understand God’s provision and blessings. They called out specific names of friends and teachers who they felt had loved them well this year. Thankful for family, for mommy’s improving health, for the good food that people have brought, my children spouted. 

Then Anne had the wonderful idea of asking the kids what they knew about the Pilgrims and the history behind our Thanksgiving holiday. Admittedly, I had semi-forgotten the history until Jack told the story quite beautifully.

Having survived a harsh winter in which half of their brethren had died, the  Pilgrims celebrated a successful harvest season with a three day feast in the fall of 1621.  Partying alongside them were almost twice as many Native Americans, many from the Wampanoag tribe, to which the famous Squanto belonged. 

It was Squanto and the Wampanoag who had given the ill-equipped, weakened Pilgrims extra provisions to survive the harsh New England  winter. And, it was they who had helped the Pilgrims plant and grow their crops. The Pilgrims’ knew their survival as a colony was inextricably bound to the generosity of the local natives. Powerful. 

This Thanksgiving, the Fletchers are celebrating our harvest of blessings. And we are deeply thankful for you, our Wampanoag tribe.  

We’re wrapping up week two of the new Navelbine treatment for Anne.  She’s enduring with a tough-minded determination. 

The drugs’ side effects have manifested in fatigue, tingly hands, nausea and loss of appetite. Like how I felt immediately after riding the tilt-a-whirl twice with my boys at this year’s State Fair. Except worse. And hers doesn’t go away. So nevermind. 

For the first time since Anne’s treatment started in Early June, I’m under the weather. Don’t you worry – I’m seeking no pity.  Feeling bleh has given me a fresh glimpse into Anne’s daily fight. 

When I don’t feel good, everything feels harder. I “will” things a lot more.  Pouring a glass of water for a child. Taking out the trash. Making phone calls. Listening.  Being enthusiastic. 

I find it especially difficult not to let how I physically feel affect me emotionally. When I feel yucky, durn it if I don’t find myself fighting off feelings of hopelessness and despair, even though nothing externally has changed.  I feel like my sick body forms a dark cloud over my heart. 

Which brings me back to Anne. My little virus will run its course for a few days, and then I’ll be back in shape. Not Anne. Six months of feeling like crud, and many more ahead. It really hit me today: being sick has served as a fresh reminder that Anne’s cancer fight isn’t just physical. It’s mental. Emotional. Spiritual. 

Many of you reading this have endured suffering. Cancer. Loss of a loved one. Failure. Abuse. An ailment that persists. You can relate to the daily battle to “keep it together.”  It’s so stinking hard. 

So Annie – and fellow sufferers – here’s a tribute to you for ploughing ahead. Pushing through the tears. Clinging to hope. Asking for help. Embracing the reality of your hardship. Refusing to give up. Doing the next thing. Believing there’s divine purpose even though you can’t see it. Loving others in your weakness. And relying on God’s grace, daily. 

It’s a long road, Annie. I marvel at how well you are doing. Keep it up love. I’m with you. We’re with you. 

This past weekend Luke returned home from a Y-Guides outing with Van at Camp Kanata.  Flopping next to me on the sofa, he says, “Mom, I feel just like you.  Tired but happy.” 

My first thought was one of gratitude.  While I’ve had to miss out on many kid events this year, my time with Jack, Luke, and Sarah sure does make me happy.  And tired. So I guess Luke’s observation is pretty spot on. 😊

My second thought was more along the lines of: “Boy, do I have you fooled.”  Tired, yes.  Happy?  Um, not the first emotion I would choose to describe the state of my heart lately.  Battling cancer has served up almost daily platters of hard and sad experiences. 

I find myself attempting to keep the sad stuff of life in a manageable place where life seems more trouble-free(ish).  That doesn’t work for long.  Being told you have cancer certainly destroys the false comfort of the self-protected life.

 Okay, let me pause right here. 

Isn’t it good news that God isn’t like me!?  He dove headlong into my troubles – my sin troubles, hurtling me toward certain death – and overcame them so that He can always be with me in my troubles and rescue me from them. Having a Big Jesus in a broken world sure is better than a dinky Jesus in a self-protected, make-believe world. 

I love what Psalm 56:8 says about the Lord and my sadness, “You have kept count of my tossing; put my tears in your bottle.  Are they not in your book?”  And I love what the end of the story holds for us.  No more tears or sorrow or pain.  Restoration.  All things made new. That’s the promise I need on the days when a platter of sadness is shoved in my face. 

One of my favorite authors, Paul Tripp hits the nail on the head in his book, New Morning Mercies:

“No one is satisfied with things the way they are….You know the world is not stuck and that it hasn’t been abandoned by God.  You know that God is working his eternal plan.  He is moving things toward their final conclusion.  You can’t see it every day, but you know it’s true.  In the middle of your sadness there is celebration, because you’ve read the final chapter and you know how God’s grand story is going to end.”

This Resurrection hope helps me bear my losses. The loss of breasts has been particularly sad. It was a no-brainier decision to exchange a part of my body for 12 inches of scars and better health. Unlike the hair now starting to sprout atop my noggin, this part of my body will never come back. At least not in a natural way.  That’s sad.

But, a trouble-free Kingdom is coming.  As I wait for it, my faithful, good King is with me, giving me all I need to press on.  That’s hope. It makes it possible to grieve honestly, weep with those who weep too, and await the day when Jesus himself really will wipe away my tears. That’s His promise. To that my heart clings. 

Tired, happy, sad, hopeful.  All by God’s grace.

What’s next?  Yesterday I began the 12 week journey of more chemo, a.k.a “the clean up crew.” (We’ve retired the ninja terminology to help the kids)  Navelbine, as this chemo drug is called, is supposed to have less severe side effects.  Fatigue will certainly continue, and other side effects will announce themselves in the next day or so.  Radiation will begin after I complete this 12 week treatment. Sigh. 

Mercies are new each morning.  Just enough, and right on time.

Hi friends. It’s late and I hear the bed a-callin’.

Anne starts a 12-week chemotherapy cycle tomorrow. Once a week, every Wednesday. 

This new drug (Navelbine) will fatigue Anne for several more months. Not as hard-hitting as the first round, but still no cakewalk. 

And boy. You continue to care for our family so well.  Cancer is heavy, but you guys lighten the load. 

Thank, thank, thank you.