"Lasts"

A friend asked me if I ever thought about "Lasts"...if it were possible to even comprehend.
My answer:
All. The. Time.

With each week that passes, new and worsening symptoms make this journey all the more real. Pain medications have been doubled and still the pain breaks through. Oxygen use has been increased to anytime I am up and about, and frequently when I am resting. Fatigue has greatly increased. 
Each time a change occurs, a "Last" occurs as well.

I didn't realize it at the time, but the last time I drove a car was several months ago. Had I understood the significance of that little trip into town, I may have taken the scenic route and just driven around a while longer.

My last vacation was our beautiful trip to Hawaii in April. At the time, we planned to take a few more small trips, including a Christmas getaway to Vegas to see a Cirque show. That is no longer possible.

The last time Jay and I went to dinner, we discussed the possibility that it could be our last date night out. I had a difficult time walking steadily and was quite tired by the end of dinner. Hopefully that will not be our last evening out.

Each visit from friends and family leave me in tears, wondering if this may be the last time we see each other until heaven.

We met with my Doctor this week. Because I am OCD and a nosey Gemini, I again asked about my current progression timeline. She shared with me the information from the chart they use.
She then said, "you know - none of this is an exact science and when it comes down to it - none of us have any control over it."
She encouraged me to work on letting go - letting go of the need to know exactly how and when; letting go of the hyper-analyzing of each new change against the progression chart. She said if I can let go - use my energy in better ways - then this journey will progress exactly the way it is meant to and my level of peace will increase.
Sadly - due to insurance changes - this was my last visit with this precious care giver. 
What a beautiful blessing she has been in our lives. She brings me back to focus on what is truly important - spending my energy on people and events that increase my peace, love and joy. 
This is no longer a time for OCD planning - I've already done all of that. Now is the time to ensure that if any of the moments I experience are my "lasts", that they are truly well worth the energy expended.

Blessings,
Mandy

Guest Post by Judith Durr-Kull

Inspiring, eloquent and insightful describes my daughter, Mandy. She is taking everyone on her journey with her battle with cancer through her blog, Feathers and Blessings.

 Mandy, you have touched the hearts of so many with your humor and beautiful words. You are showing your extraordinary ability to forgive. You encourage each of us to face, deal with our feelings honestly and live our lives by moving forward, all the while facing death.  You are the most courageous person I know.

My journey began as Mandy’s mom. I am amazed this intelligent, graceful young woman is my daughter. She has asked several of us to share our feelings, our thoughts and perspective as we walk with her on her journey. As the mother of this incredible personality, this is one of the most difficult requests ever asked to do in my life.  It is an honor to be your mother, Mandy.

Motherhood has enriched my life. What a beautiful moment when a mother touches the face of her child in the first moments of their life and for me, it is heart wrenching to think about the last. My heart is breaking. Prayers, tears and laughter have always been apart of motherhood for me. Today, Laughter is what I choose to remember. Mandy has taught me that through this journey, love and laughter are the most important for her.  So as often as I can, I will love and laugh.

Mandy and Jay went to the doctor recently. The doctor asked if Mandy had everything in place…trust me, she does. Mandy was also given a time period based on charts for the medical profession.  Jay’s wonderful response to Mandy is, “ There is no expiration date stamped on your butt.”  These two people are strong and smart. They are sharing their strength, courage and journey.

I do not know how do this part well…I would rather be drinking my cup of Earl Grey tea or as Mandy has introduced me to, “London Fog” from Starbucks. I would rather be in the studio painting or in my garden, just not, writing or being on this journey, facing my feelings and the eventuality of losing my precious daughter.

As a mother who has prays for her children happiness and peace, I can say, my prayers have been answered. Mandy found her foundation in Christ. She found her happiness, peace and the love of her life with Jay Smith, her wonderful husband. She and Jay have created a loving and peaceful home. Mandy is cherished by her friends and family and she gives to others in the most incredible ways.

Mandy is talented and grateful…recently I watched Mandy prepare one of her many elaborate gift baskets you would think would have come from an upscale boutique. She wanted to thank the nurses at the radiation center in Flagstaff after her final treatment.

Her beadwork is beautiful. She creates bracelets and necklaces. She paints and loves color. Speaking as an artist, she is very good. 

Her homemaking skills are fantastic. She is organized, as she says, “bordering on O.C.D.”.  We have laughed about the DNA passed down and shows up.  She peeked in my clean closet (it is not always clean and organized) one afternoon and said, “So that’s where I get it.”  You know it is a wonderful day for a mother when your daughter asks you to visit for a week and help organize an already organized home. 

DNA shows up when you can finish a sentence or have the same thoughts about the same things and the same time.  It is a wonderful gift for me to hear, “I get that from my Mom.”

Humor and Mandy…in helping to organize that week, I was helping to arrange closets. In the guest room, I found a cardboard box on the top shelf of the closet. Thinking it needed to find a “place”…I asked what she wanted me to do with the box…hesitation from her. She promptly takes the box sets it on the bed and proceeds to open it, she begins to explain the urns she has ordered for the family.  “What!!! Wait!!! I was stunned. I never thought about her preparation or what was in the simple cardboard box and what it represented.  No way, no one thinks this far ahead and it is in your closet! This is Mandy!  She was laughing at me, the look on my face and after I collected myself, we were both laughing. Mandy is making sure Jay or someone else will not have to make this decisions.

Mandy is concerned for Jay’s needs now and what he will need later.  She is always thinking how he will take care of himself.  She is concerned about her family and friends. She is always asking what we need. She has an uncanny gift of knowledge and preparation. She is allowing us to help or visit as her strength is fading. Mandy is teaching us that this all part of the journey and it is in God’s hands.  Love is all there is. This beautiful child is my daughter.

There are tears through all the laughter. Mandy says “We cry ugly.”  It is not pretty when we cry. There does not seem to be enough tissue, our eyes swell up, our noses turn bright red, we talk funny because our noses or plugged, UGLY!

Knowing there are no more options for Mandy is heartbreaking.  She has been so strong for so many years, through everything. She is strong through everything and she described this to someone as “the long goodbye.” If you know her, this is not goodbye. It is see you soon.

There have been some “dump outs.”  Mandy’s grace has taught me there is not enough time to put up with drama or negative energy.  She only has time for positive and Love. An unkind word, insensitive, inconsiderate person sends me over the edge but not Amanda. Cancer is sapping her strength and she will respond with diplomacy. She will tell me to let things go, “maybe they are having a bad day or perhaps there is something going on in their lives we know nothing about.  The roles have reversed. She is amazing. When I would rip out the heart, my daughter reminds me “not so fast.”

There is no doubt about a Mother’s love for a Child. My wish for everyone is put away anger, find love and be inspiring to someone. Love brings me to my knees and gives peace. The essence of Mandy’s beautiful heart has reached so many, reminds us to Live, Love and Laugh.

Judith Durr-Kull

Season of Thanks

Praise the Lord, Give thanks to the LORD, for He is good, His love endures forever. -Psalm 106:1

I give thanks that God has surrounded me with my loves!
     They arrive on wings of love and prayer. They lift our spirits, give us strength beyond measure and infuse some much needed normalcy into our lives.
     They come bearing award-winning chili recipes and smoked briskets; chocolates and Swedish Fish; snugly slippers and crafts galore...they appear with gifts to buoy our spirits and make us smile and laugh.

                       Most of all - they show up with big hugs, big tears and big love.
                       Their singular goal is to wrap us in their arms and love us 
                       through the days they spend with us.

     I fight the frustration of not being the hostess I once was. Instead, allowing others to give us the gift of serving us has been the most humbling of experiences. My fierce independent and stubborn streak have been overruled and I am learning how to accept gifts of service and love gratefully and gracefully (not always so gracefully).

     My loves are extraordinarily patient with me, knowing just how challenging this is. They allow me to do what I can and aren't afraid to tell me when they feel that I'm on the verge of over-doing it. They urge me to rest and I've begun listening to them and to my body - resting more.

     We endeavor to capture our time together with photos and videos - trying not to miss any moments - we smile and laugh and hope to emblazon these precious times on our hearts and in our memories.

     We often discuss the hard topics and share a box of Kleenex while we share our hearts. Often, we are not certain how to express what is on our hearts, so we choose laughter over tears.

     Each departure day leaves a hole in our hearts and our home. We long for the time we can be together again - never saying goodbye...instead, leaving one another with "I will see you soon..."

Blessings,
Mandy

These Days

These days-an entire Saturday spent cleaning and doing laundry, has been replaced by clean a little when you can and toss a load of laundry in when you remember...

These days-hours spent cooking and baking, have been replaced by whatever can be made in 30 minutes or less...

These days-long evening walks have been replaced by needing oxygen after a short walk around the block...

These days-long days at work have been replaced by long days on the couch reading books and watching TV...

These days-snuggling in bed with My Heart, has been replaced by 'I Love You' signed to each other from separate beds...

These days-long ER visits have been replaced by a hospice nurse who greets us with smiles, hugs and treats for our sweet fur babies...

These days-endless to-do lists have been replaced with quiet, reflective time. Time to read multiple devotional books and bible studies. Time to spend quietly in the Presence of God...

These days-boundless energy has been replaced with watching the birds swarm the feeders in the backyard; practicing meditation; and talking with Jesus while swinging in my hammock...

These days-dinners and evenings out with friends have been replaced by the most precious visits from friends far and near. A time to truly be together-laughing, crying, sharing our hearts and souls...

These days-taking things for granted has been replaced by seeing life and the world through fresh eyes. Eyes that appreciate beautiful fall weather. Eyes that enjoy watching a fluffy squirrel work to store away his winter food stash...

These days-the question of 'Why Me?', has been replaced with one, solid affirmation: 'I love you with an everlasting LOVE.'...

These days-anxiety over treatments, scans and scary snorts have been replaced with peace in 'just being'; just knowing that God has the timing of our lives in His complete control...

These days-tears of frustration and fear have been replaced by tears of love and gratitude (and some sadness) for my loves who surround me with their prayers, love and hearts - knowing that each and every tear has been seen and captured in His bottle - the One who cries right along with us...

These days-fear of dying has been replaced by a hopeful expectation of a place more beautiful, peaceful and joyful than my heart can fathom. Knowing that when I reach the other side, the first face I will see is that of Jesus, fills my heart with unspeakable love and joy...

These days, I live in gratitude that I've been given the gift of learning the meaning of TRUE LIFE...The joys of simplicity; slowing down and truly getting to know the hearts of those you love; spending peaceful, quiet moments with the One who makes each moment possible...


Blessings,
Mandy

Guest Post by: Carolyne Steiner "A Three Strand Chord"

My precious friend Mandy asked me to write a guest blog.  I said I would because I’d do anything for my friend, including shave her legs if Jay’s man card doesn’t include that option.

                                                              Shopping in Sedona

But now, I’m almost at a loss for what to say.  How do you speak words when frequently there just aren’t words?  I love my precious friend.  I have almost from the first time we met. 

About 7 years ago, Jay began coming to Skyline church to worship.  He always came alone.  I wondered why.   I didn’t know that his wife was sick and frequently just unable to come.  Then one Sunday, Mandy came with Jay and he was quick to introduce us.  I adored her immediately.  (Jay later told me that the first time he met me, he went home and told Mandy “I’ve met your soul-mate.”)  It took us a while to knit together a friendship, but God has been good, and He has knit for us an amazing friendship.  Mandy, Ginger and I have a beautiful friendship centered around our mutual love for God.   He has made a beautiful three-strand cord.

                                          ...a chord of three is not easily broken... (Ecclesiastes 4:12)

                                                         The Infamous Shopping/Antiquing Day

My precious friend Mandy has shown me how to love, really love, deeply.  She has taught me the value of not holding back in affection.  When she loves someone, she loves them deeply and she communicates that like no one I’ve ever known.  She makes Jay, every family member, every friend, every person she comes in contact with feel like they are the most special individual to her, and we all are.  God is love.  Mandy’s legacy is LOVE.

Walking through this time with her is so very hard, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.   About a year ago, she gave to me and then Ginger a book called Just Show Up:  The Dance of Walking Through Suffering Together by Kara Tippetts and Jill Buteyn.   It’s a jewel of a book about how to be a friend and just “be present” for someone who’s dying.  Who gives you a book like that?  Someone who loves her friends enough to show them how to love her back.  Mandy’s legacy is LOVE.

 Sometimes we cry, sometimes we ask the hard questions that seem to have no answers, like “why her?”  We trust God when there are not answers.  But mostly, we find things to laugh about.  If we don’t laugh a lot, we’ll cry too much.   Mandy calls her big tumor “Grumpy”, so we discuss whether Grumpy is behaving today or not.  We talk about her visits to the “Scary Snort,” (the X-ray machine).   When she was receiving Chemo treatments in Chicago, I’d offer to hold her hair while she puked in the toilet.  She never took me up on that offer.  (Think about that for a minute, then I’ll move on).  We laugh about our dogs, getting in trouble in Sedona, or anything else we can come up with.  We laugh about whether we’re living in Camp Denial or Camp Reality that day, and how we can jump from one camp to the other on any given day.  Oh, we also laugh about the time we made Ginger go shopping with us; painful for her, glorious for us.  Laughter truly is good medicine.

                                              We got into so much trouble touching the car

I refuse to say goodbye to my precious friend, Mandy.  Christians have a glorious hope, a hope of an eternity with our loving God and Father.  He created us in His image and He loves us with a jealous love.  He wants, craves for us to be with Him for eternity.  So I know that we will only be saying “I’ll see you later.”  I’ve told her that I’m thinking of it as her moving a lot farther away than Arizona and I just can’t go visit her for a while.  But I know that I’ll see Mandy again much sooner than I can imagine.  We have talked and laughed and imagined about what we will see and do in Heaven; seeing Jesus face to face and seeing friends and family.  We’ve talked about what we might look like, where we will live (she will have a log cabin, mine will be Timber frame-both in the Heavenly mountains).  I think she and Ginger and I will be beading at some point.  They can crochet, I’m not doing it.  I’m jes sayin.  It’s fun to imagine.  It will be so perfect for God’s people. 

                                                                        Beading                                                                                                              

I don’t know a lot, but what I do know is that Heaven is a wonderful place where “God’s presence with be with mankind, and He will live with them.  They will be His peoples, and He Himself will be their God.  He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.  There will no longer be any death; and there will no longer be any mourning, crying or pain.” Revelation 21:3-4.   

With God in Heaven.  That’s the place I want to be, and its Jesus’ blood shed for my sins, for Mandy’s sins, for the sins of the world that cleanses us and enables us to receive the gift of eternal life.  When the time comes, that’s the place where I know that Mandy will be waiting for Jay, me, and all of her loves. 

I love you bunches my precious friend.

                                                         Shopping/Antiquing in Sedona

Guest Post by: Ginger Hawk

A while ago, I asked a few people who have journeyed with us, if they would graciously write a guest post for the blog. Sweetly - they agreed. 

When my precious friend Mandy asked me to consider writing a guest post about my recent visit for her blog, I have to admit my initial reaction was one of terror. Okay, that might be an exaggeration…but only a slight one. I have not been blessed with the gift of writing (at least not the ability to enjoy doing it), but I am honored that she asked me to do this. So here goes…

I had wanted to make the trip to visit Mandy for quite some time, but for several reasons it had not been possible for me to do so. This past summer it became clear that I didn’t need to put off making it happen any longer, so my husband Mark and I worked it out for me to make my first trip to Flagstaff in mid September. He and I are also preparing to make the trip there together later this month.

Mentally preparing for that first trip, I relied heavily on our dear mutual friend Carolyne, who had gone to Flagstaff for a visit with the Smiths at the end of July and had traveled at least twice before to be with Mandy, even going to Chicago back when she was receiving treatments. Carolyne gave me a general idea of what to expect while there, and I was very thankful for that mental preparation, though I still felt unprepared for what my heart would experience and very much appreciated the prayers of many back home as I embarked on what I considered to be, emotionally, the hardest trip of my life (so far).

Something that became clear when I got to Jay & Mandy’s house is that nothing is predictable when one is dealing with cancer and the multiple medications that accompany it. When Carolyne had visited just two weeks before my trip, Mandy was extremely lethargic and had to nap quite a bit, so they both advised me to bring plenty to keep me busy during those down times. Mandy even apologized that she wouldn’t be her usual energetic self that I remembered, and I repeatedly reminded her that I am a homebody who has no problem keeping contentedly busy around the house. Come to find out, Mandy had been fatigued because of the side effects of a new medication she had been taking and had since weaned herself off of it. So the whole time I was there, while she clearly wasn’t the same energetic person she used to be and was now using a walker and even occasional supplemental oxygen, she at least didn’t have to take extra naps just to make it through the day, and we were able to maximize our time together.

As I think back on it, I find myself remembering three distinct aspects of the routine that developed. The mornings were my alone time. Since my internal clock was operating two hours ahead, I woke up early and had time to myself each morning to think and read and pray, and that’s when I did most of my crying. I didn’t schedule it that way, it just happened. I’m not usually much of a crier, but one of my biggest fears had been not being able to control my emotions in front of Mandy, so I felt particularly thankful that the waterworks happened in private (for the most part).

Each day, once Mandy was up and ready for breakfast, she and I spent many hours sitting in the living room together, drinking coffee and eating ginormous bagels, talking, watching the dogs play, enjoying the beautiful view from their large open windows, and making friendship bracelets. This time was an unexpectedly sweet gift of contented peacefulness and what Mandy calls normalcy, and we were quite aware of the grace of it in the moment.

The final part of our daily routine that stands out in my memory was the evening-time wound care. Mandy has been pretty transparent on her blog about what she is experiencing with the growth of her tumors, and Carolyne had given me even more details. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to handle watching as Jay went through the process of dressing the wound where the tumor has broken through the skin of her abdomen. (As I told Jay the first day, I could never be a nurse.) However, when it came time each night I felt honored that they allowed me to be an observer in the room and found that I didn’t have any trouble being there for my dear friends in whatever small way they needed/wanted me to be (photographer, ace-wrap holder, etc.). More grace.

Though my main reason for being there those few days was to have some precious time with Mandy and to be whatever help I could be (I wasn’t much), seeing how well Jay takes care of her was an unexpected blessing for me as well. I was struck by how he was able to go about the daily responsibilities of life with a calmness, sense of humor, and humility that never showed any indication of the load of stress that I know he carries. He is an incredibly dedicated husband, “nurse,” and provider for Mandy and a sweet daddy to their two fur-babies. It was a joy to witness the deep love that Jay & Mandy share. God sure knew what he was doing when he brought the two of them together 22+ years ago. They have created a space together that is welcoming, serene, and soothing, even in the midst of their ongoing struggles. I have rarely felt so at home and at peace someplace other than my own home.

Mandy spoke freely of what she was experiencing physically, the preparations she has made for the future as well as the plans she wants Jay to carry out for her later on. I don’t think there is anything that she hasn’t thought of or isn’t willing to talk about, and while I sometimes found I had no idea how to respond in those moments, I greatly admired her transparency and candidness. Despite her own periods of denial that she has alluded to in her writing, while I was there I sensed only that Mandy has her eyes wide open, eager to know what to expect and willing to accept it all with dignity. I also admire that she allows her loved ones to process the stages of her journey in whatever way they need to and lovingly accepts everyone wherever they are on the spectrum of acceptance/denial.

There are so many more details of my experience that stand out, such as going for walks with Noel and Manchu and Jay (and once with Mandy too) in the afternoons, rooting for Notre Dame in a football game for the first time ever, sightseeing in Sedona, learning to bake bread from scratch, laughing at J&M’s random quoting of The Big Bang Theory, getting lots of puppy kisses and snuggles from Noel, and of course praying with and for my dear friend the night before I left.

As I look forward to going back in a few days for another visit, this time with Mark by my side, I find that my excitement to see Mandy & Jay is again tempered by my dread of having to say goodbye. Goodbyes have been extraordinarily difficult for me my whole life, and when I left Mandy the last time it was really hard, but I did so knowing I would be coming back soon. I have a feeling I will be saying that this time as well but with less certainty of the when and how of it. What I do know is that God is good and that He will provide what is needed.

Over the past few years I have learned a great deal from Mandy about what true day-to-day trust in the Lord looks like. Her faith has kept her grounded when the basic things that the rest of us take for granted have been taken from her. She has been an inspiration to me as she has so many others, and I am blessed beyond measure to have been able to call her friend. My time with her has been a priceless gift that I will always treasure.

And, Mandy, even though you’ve made me do hard things over the years… like shopping for clothes and antiques (I still haven’t quite forgiven you for that one day) and writing a guest blog post and saying goodbye again and again…I love you BIG! ♥

Ugly Toes & Hairy Legs

While talking with my sweet hospice nurse a couple of weeks ago, she asked me how I was coping with self-care: showering, dressing, etc. I told her that I was doing well. Showering in a chair was quite an adjustment, but I finally figured out a workable system. I told her that shaving my legs was the trickiest aspect to figure out.

Jay, in all his "dude-wisdom", piped in and said, "Hey! Cold weather is here - 90% of the women in Flagstaff will be sporting hairy legs for the next few months. You'll fit in perfectly!"

You have to understand, that we live in a bit of a hippy, granola mountain town. And Jay's right - for the next few months, we will be seeing quite a lot of fur-bearing mammals walking the streets of our town. This girl, however, will not be one of them.

I looked at Jay and my nurse and said, "Promise me one thing.....make sure my toes stay painted and my legs stay shaved! 

I'm not asking a lot here!!

PROMISE ME......

You will not let me meet Jesus with ugly toes and hairy legs!!!



Blessings,
Mandy

Into His Hands

Cancer sucks...Steroids suck...and the combination of the two suck big time!
       For about a month, I was on increasing doses of Dexamethasone. The good thing about this steroid is that it really helped control the tumor pain in my hip bone and general abdominal tumor pain.
The bad things about this steroid are: weight gain-I've literally gained 40 pounds in two months, that's ALOT! ; this steroid causes you to have what's called "moon face", however, it doesn't just attack your face, it also attacks your neck, the back of your neck and your abdomen. Your face swells to roughly the size of a basketball - then your neck and abdomen follow suit, finally, a large swollen hump forms on the back of your neck. So for the past couple of months, I've looked like a chubby,  pregnant Hunchback of Notre Dame. Nice. I could handle all of that until one day my neck and face were so swollen that I couldn't turn my head. My hands and feet swelled so badly it caused my neuropathy pain to increase and my face was so swollen it felt as though it would crack and split at any moment. I'd had enough (or so I thought). I spoke with my Doctor and began weaning off the steroids. Within a few weeks I was finally off of them. The swelling was really beginning to decrease and I thought I was feeling better. That quickly changed.
       The tumor bone pain became so bad that I walked with a noticeable limp, my energy level quickly dropped as did my oxygen levels. I developed a wicked rash over my face, neck and torso. My hospice nurse spoke with my Doctor. My doctor felt the cause was going off the steroids. Cancer cells produce a protein called cytokines. These nasty little buggers cause everything from nerve and joint pain to apparently rashes. This was being suppressed by the steroids and allowed to go crazy once I stopped them. 
       Yesterday, we met with my Doctor. She examined the rash and still felt it was due to the cytokines being let loose. So.....it's back to the steroids. We are going to do the lowest dose possible to control symptoms while managing the side effects.
       Jay and I have always said that my Doctor has a very keen insight into what is going on health, spiritually and emotionally with me.
 During my check up two weeks ago, she suddenly stopped, placed her hand on my shoulder, and said, "I just feel that I need to share something with you." She took a seat and showed us a chart. The chart is specific to advanced stage cancer patients under palliative/hospice care. The chart reviews the percentage of the patients activity level, evidence of disease, self care, appetite, level of consciousness, etc. Once that is assessed, an Estimated Median Survival in Days is given. She shared the chart information with us and shared the # of days (months) she feels I have remaining. Although it was difficult to see in black and white, it was information I had been praying about - I really wanted to know. It was as if the Holy Spirit told her soul what my soul needed to hear.  She also gave us a great explanation on how the trajectory of advanced cancer happens. She said that cancer patients have a lengthy time of level/baseline. They do treatments, they have good times of feeling healthy. Then very rapidly/suddenly, they experience a decline. No one can predict when it will happen. She asked me if I had everything ready. I told her that I told her there were several thing I still needed to do, however, I have been preparing mentally, spiritually and getting paperwork, etc prepared.
       During our visit with my Doctor yesterday, she asked again if I was ready. I told her that I was much closer, but still needed/wanted to complete a few things. She looked me right in the eyes and said "the trajectory (decline) is what frightens you the most, isn't it?" I told her it was. I told her that I am always hyper-vigilant and on-guard when new pains and symptoms appear - wondering is this it?
I don't want to be caught off guard. First, she told me "don't be hyper-on-guard. It's a waste of your energy and you do not want to waste one precious ounce." Second, she told me "ask God to give you a warning or make you aware. This is not an unreasonable request of Him." I totally agree! I've asked God to be merciful with me throughout this and I will now also be asking Him to give me a "heads-up'.
       I haven't written this blog earlier because we wanted to be sure we were able to have as many face-to-face talks with our families as possible about the timeline. So far, our families are in two camps: Camp Denial and Camp Reality. I have to say, there are many more people in Camp Denial. I personally bounce back and forth depending on the day & how I'm feeling on any given day. I've read several books that say denial is actually a healthy coping mechanism for most people so let them hang out in Camp Denial as long as they want to.
        My hospice nurse visited today. We had a nice long talk. She said that during their team meeting, they discussed that My Doctor went over the life expectancy timeline with me. She said they all just sat in silence for a while. She said they rarely have someone enter hospice early as we have chosen to do, and they rarely have someone so young in hospice. It's hard for them to grasp the timeline because I look healthy, I can still do some things like laundry, some cooking, etc around the house. She told me that she has joined Camp Denial. I discussed what my Doctor told me about asking God for a heads up; sign; warning...whatever you want to call it. She said that I will know. She said one day I will suddenly feel terrible, tired, and think to myself - yep, I'm dying.
       I do have a few milestones I want to happen before I go to heaven. I want to spend Thanksgiving with my families. My TX family will be here for Thanksgiving week, and we will have to work out early/late Thanksgivings with the rest of our family. 
My precious loves will be be making trips here in late October and early November. Their presence is a balm to my soul and having them all here gives us a wonderful sense of normalcy, if only for a while. Please pray that I will feel well while everyone is here.
I want to see snow - LOTS OF SNOW! I want to have a beautiful last Christmas that is white and lovely. I want to be able to help decorate my house and make cookies - the whole nine yards. I want to go on a Vegas trip with my Mom and Roger that we have planned for December. I want to celebrate New Years. I want to celebrate Jay's birthday.
       There are so many items on my bucket list that will have to remain unchecked. Most involve travel and things that I am simply unable to do physically.
I trust that heaven will make my bucket list look sadly pathetic.
       Jay asked me one day - with all the books I have read about heaven - do I anticipate being there? Yes, I do. I cannot wait to meet Jesus face-to-face. I cannot wait to praise Him and praise the Father in their ACTUAL PRESENCE!
I am excited about exploring heaven-what will it look like? What amazing things have been prepared for us? I'm delighted at the thought of being reunited with my PawPaw, Jay's Dad (My Turnip), Jay's Grandparents and friends that will be waiting to welcome me. I am thrilled at the idea of actually meeting so many people I admire and have only read about: Paul, John, Peter, Mary and Martha, CS Lewis, Corie Ten Boom, Kara Tippets, Joey Feek - my list could go on forever.So - yes - I do have an anticipation of heaven. I also have a sadness that leaves me heartbroken and undone when I think about who I am leaving behind:
The One Whom My Soul Loves - My Jay.
The First Man I Ever Loved - My Daddy.
My Mom - Sweet, Sassy, The Best Foot and Head Massager Ever.
Charla - Kind Hearted, Always Puts Others Before Herself. Loved by so many!
Roger - Gentle and Kind - a Gift to All Who Know Him.
Lois - My Second Mom From the Beginning - Always There No Matter What.
My Brothers and Sisters In-Love - They are so encouraging and loving. They are a blessing to us!
My Nieces and Nephews - They are all so sweet and lovable in so many different ways. They are sweet, they pray for us, ask about us and are just such a special gift to us.
My Girls - Friends like these ladies come along once in a lifetime. God sends them into your life for a reason- unconditional love.
       These are the ones that my heart longs to stay for, yet I know that I can't. So - I will give them all to God the one who created each of them knows the best way to care for them. Into His hands I will place them for the safest of keeping, just know that I love you all with a love that cannot be measured.

Blessings,
Mandy

Holding on Loosely-This Life

"This Life" by the Afters
...For a moment, we are here together And it hits me that this won't last forever
We can't own it, we just get to hold it for a while....This life
We can't keep it or save it for another time....This life
What we give is all we have
How we love is what will last
And this Hope we know will carry us through....This life


Along with several wonderful visits from family over the past few weeks, two of my dearest loves have flown to AZ from TN to be by our sides.  

In between her work in Haiti and a short furlow home to the states, Carolyne arrived the week after my admission to hospice. Between a big change in my medications and the emotional exhaustion of the next step in our journey, my body was worn out. Most days it was all I could do to hold my head up for a few hours at a time. Carolyne sweetly kept things running around here and sat with me as I dozed off and on each day. Her presence was sweet and calming to my fragile soul.

                                                     "Sweet Carolyne"

Last week, Ginger arrived. Since Carolyne's visit, medication adjustments were made and I was not feeling as fatigued. Ginger brought supplies to teach me how to make friendship bracelets. We spent many hours on the couch, talking and crafting. She also helped keep things running smoothly around here.  Her last day in AZ, we made a very impromptu decision to drive to Sedona and show her a little AZ sunshine. We loaded up my oxygen tank, my scooter (walker), bag of medications and snacks (the most important of all). The drive to Sedona was beautiful - I was able, with the help of Jay, Ginger and copious amounts of pain meds, to get out and walk a little while soaking up some sunshine my soul desperately needed. 

                                                      "Sunshine for my Soul"

The drive home was, however, tough. I needed my oxygen & was experiencing severe back spasms. (This is a new symptom we are trying to get a handle on). Ginger held my hand and we made it back home. It was truly worth every ounce of energy I used and I'd do it all over again, in a heartbeat.

                                            
                                      "Never underestimate the power of touch"

Both Carolyne and Ginger experienced the ups and downs of our new path. They stood next to my bedside each day as Jay tended to my tumor wound care and dressing changes. They saw the sweet and tender way he cares for me each day.
They saw that even at the end of the journey, it's okay to laugh...even at random, often seemingly inappropriate times; it's okay to cry. It's okay to ask the hard questions and discuss the hard answers. It's okay to just sit and hold your friends hand when there literally are no words.

I wish I could say that my energy has bounced back and that I have many more sunny excursions ahead of me, however, I don't know that I can. Each day seems to bring new challenges, a new set of pains, a new level of tired. I fight all these changes with everything I have. I fight taking naps as though I am a toddler; I fight to do at least a couple of "normal" household chores each day. Mostly because I resent the changes taking place - they represent a new phase of fading and because I don't want to miss anything. I am trying to figure out how to love deeply and live well all while being confined and limited. How does one hold tightly, yet simultaneously let go?

                                        "When you cannot sleep - write"


"Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open." - Corrie ten Boom

We are told to hold onto the things of this world loosely - easier done with material things than with our loves. Even though it is heartbreaking, there's great truth in learning to do this. God gives us one another for such a brief time here. It's short, it's fleeting - it'a vapory mist. Thankfully, there is good news and hope. God promises something better in time - in HIS time - we will be spend forever with our loves. We will be together in a place where nothing will ever be able to separate us - not time, not distance, not death. 

God, through Jesus, used a cross to create a bridge between us and Himself. This bridge connects us to God forever. It's because of this that we can hold loosely to this world. In doing so, we must also remember to hold tightly to heaven and eternity.

Blessings,
Mandy

Deep Breaths

Deep breaths!!
The past few days have been a blur of paperwork, medical equipment, nurses and doctors.
Jay and I have glazed over eyes, dumbstruck expressions on our faces and true sensory overload.

On Tuesday, my sweet doctor made the call we didn't want to make - she called hospice. Within a few hours of returning home, hospice was calling us. We scheduled the admission for Thursday.

My case nurse and an administrator arrived at our home with sweet smiles and soft spirits. At the kitchen table - where all important discussions are required to take place - we talked about the ins and outs of all things hospice. My new team, which is comprised of my doctor, nurses, wound care nurse, CNA's, pastoral care, social workers and volunteers will now manage every aspect of my care from now on. They will work closely with Jay and I to ensure that we can focus on living well, spend time together and with family, and do the things we want to do.

We had many decisions to make in a short period of time:
* Where will the hospital bed go? We chose the master bedroom next to our bed. Even though the hospital bed will be physically easier for me, it will be very difficult not sleeping next to Jay every night. We pushed the beds as close together as possible so we can still hold hands and talk before drifting off to sleep each night.
* Oxygen Concentrator?  It's not an imminent need at this time, however, as a result of my tumor pushing toward my diaphragm and lungs, I can occasionally become short of breath. This will continue to worsen, and it is comforting knowing we have oxygen close by when needed.
* Walker? On a good day, I can be a bit of a clumsy ogre. Now that we live in a home with primarily tile floors, it is probably a wise idea - especially for the days when my energy and coordination are both low.

Today, my case nurse and my wound care nurse came to our home to assess the tumor. Since completing radiation, there have been no bleeding episodes - THANK YOU JESUS!
The wound, nevertheless, grows larger and erodes more and more of the tumor and surrounding tissue every day. The goal of wound care is to apply just the right combination of treatments and dressings to prevent future bleeding and infections. Both nurses said that my tumor looked clean and really good. I guess in the world of ulcerating/fungating tumors, that's kind of a big deal.
My wound care nurse showed us exactly how she wanted the wound treated and dressed. It's a fairly extensive process so Jay will play a major role in helping with this twice a day. The nurse asked him if he felt comfortable with this. He just smiled sweetly (ok, he smirked a little), and said he could handle it. After 20+ years of being a cancer care-giver, Jay can do this in his sleep.

When everyone left today and I saw all of this equipment strewn around, it hit me. This is really happening. It felt and still feels so surreal. My house looks like a hospital - ok - maybe not quite that bad, but pretty close. For the love of everything, there's a chair in my shower.

All of these things are stark reminders that I'm dying. I've been trying to process it all day today, but I'm still in a bit of a fog. I know that we will adjust to the new changes quickly - we always do. This is simply another stepping stone on our journey.

Even in the midst of glazed over eyes and what seems to be too much happening too fast, there will be mercy and grace. We will give our disorientation over to Jesus and allow Him to make sense of it for us. HIS sense, not the world's sense.
The world says none of this makes sense; cancer doesn't make sense; people dying young doesn't make sense.
JESUS says: All of this, I will work out together for GOOD; JESUS says, Come to me all who are weary and I will give you rest; JESUS says, this world is not your home - you're a pilgrim traveling through to your true home...HEAVEN!!

Blessings,
Mandy

Beauty From Ashes

Week one of radiation is in the books.

We were hoping to see quite a bit of improvement already, however, the bleeding episodes continue and the tumor pushes through the skin a bit more each day. Right now, we liken the tumor to a giant alien eyeball coming through my upper abdomen.

During the week, I experienced a couple of bleeding episodes that threatened to postpone my radiation schedule. Thankfully, we were able to proceed without interruption.

We had a meeting with my Palliative Care Doctor this week. This calm, soft-spoken, thoughtful lady has been one of our greatest medicinal blessings. Actually, she's been one of our greatest emotional and spiritual blessings as well. She carefully considers every aspect of what we are going through, and guides us through treatment plans accordingly. She understands our spiritual walk, and blesses us with meditative prayers as well as sound medical advice.

When chemo stopped working and I chose to begin palliative care, there were several processes I wasn't yet ready to delve into. I needed time and she was patient to give me all the space I needed. This week, it was time to make more hard choices.

The first was whether or not I wanted extreme measures, such as CPR, defibrillation, or intubation used as life-saving treatments. When you first think about this, your initial, self-preservative, instinct is to say, "heck yeah! Hook me up, shock my heart into submission, breathe for me...do whatever you've got to do. I'm not ready to give up!"
Then, the voice of reason - in the form of a tiny palliative care doctor, who is able to logically walk you through all of those scenarios - takes over. Given the location of my ulcerating tumor and the many tumors that line my abdominal wall, and are moving toward my chest, CPR and defibrillation would do more damage than good. It's most likely I wouldn't survive those measures and it would be a very traumatic event all around.
Intubation was an easier decision. Having a machine breathe for me is not living; also, I do not want my family to be forced to make a decision of whether or not to remove me from machines.

So, I now have a bright orange DNR/DNI (Do Not Resucitate/Do Not Intubate) card in my wallet and a bright orange paper on my fridge.

The next hard choice was hospice care. Jay and I have had many long conversations about this. We both agree that hospice care is invaluable - the big question has always been - WHEN?
We spoke with my Doctor about this. She suggested the earlier, the better. She explained that these are the people who will be in our home caring for us and will be here in the middle of the night if needed, therefore, it is best to begin to form those relationships and establish those bonds as early as possible. She stated that most people wait much too long and wish they would have made the choice to enter hospice care earlier. I suppose this is why hospice care carries with it a denotation that the patient is knocking on heavens door when they make that call.
I've heard some people say they thought you had X number of days on hospice and if you didn't die within that time frame, they kicked you out. Truth is, many people stay on hospice care for a very long time.

We made the choice to transition to hospice care once I am finished with radiation treatments. We will meet with our sweet doctor on August 16 to begin that change over. She will remain my primary doctor until such a time as I can no longer go to her office. At that point, the hospice doctor will take over that care roll.

After aggressively being in this fight for 20+ years, this new change is hard to wrap our heads around. No more scans, no more CA125 tests to monitor where the cancer is or how it's behaving. No more researching treatments and methods of fighting. Now, all the focus will be on comfort, living well and dying well.

This new place has been very difficult for my family, as you can imagine, especially for my parents. This is not the natural order of things and shouldn't be the way life plays out. They've been in fighting spirit mode right along with us all these years and it's hard to let that go. We've all had hard discussions and most often the right words simply aren't there. Thankfully, the love is and that is what carries us through.

Please lift up my family in your prayers. Please pray for peace that passes understanding. I don't ask for understanding - no one can actually understand this. This is why we need the peace of God that transcends comprehension and emotions. It assures us that although this life can be painfully hard and we don't understand-there is a place where we will all be re-united forever. In that place, we will understand the big picture of God's ultimate plan.

Right now, we trust. We cling to the hem of Jesus' robe and we trust that through the hard - there will be grace. We trust that through the pain, there will be peace. We trust that through the ashes, there will be beauty.

Blessings,
Mandy

Be Brave and Courageous

On Monday, I will begin radiation treatments. The goal is to scar the vascular system of the tumor that is coming through the skin to stop the bleeding episodes.
They will also radiate the tumor that is beginning to invade the liver. The tumor can be felt under the skin, and we want to avoid it coming through the skin as well.

Many people have asked if surgery would be an option. We have consulted with four different surgeons in different states. The consensus has all been the same. I'm pretty much like Humpty Dumpty at this point. The tumors involve the majority of my abdominal wall and muscles. The surgeons could remove the tumors, however, they wouldn't be able to put me back together again. They also all agree that even if a successful surgery were possible, the tumors would simply come right back.

As radiation days near, I find myself growing nervous and anxious. Lying in a cold room by myself, on a steel bed, strapped down - unable to move for at least 30 minutes to one hour at a time while a large machine rotates around me gives me anxiety. Kara Tippetts called machines like this a "scary snort" from the book "Are You My Mother?" by PD Eastman. I like that - it's better than calling it what it is - a giant nuking machine.

During the process, you don't see any beams, feel anything or smell anything....although, when I did radiation in Chicago, one guy came out of the radiation room, into the patient waiting room, and swore he smelled bacon during his treatment :)

I just really really dislike laying in that room just me and scary snort.

As I've been preparing for the next two weeks of treatments, I've been focusing on Psalms. I'm very much in love with Psalms. The writers are raw, they're real, they tell it like it is. Psalm 27 has been speaking to my heart the past few days.

Verse 1: The Lord is my light and my salvation. So why should I be afraid? The Lord is my fortress protecting me from danger, so why should I tremble?
What do I truly have to fear? God is ever present; every surrounding me. He will never leave me alone. Not even in a room with a scary snort machine nuking my guts.

Verse 3: Though a mighty army surrounds me, my heart will not be afraid. Even if I am attacked, I will remain confident.
Cancer so often feels as though a might army surrounds us and attacks come from all sides. My confidence cannot and will not lie in medicines, doctors, or this world. All of these things can and do fail. My confidence must remain in the One who never fails - My God, the King of Heaven's Armies.

Verse 5: For He will conceal me there (His temple) when troubles come; He will hide me in His sanctuary. He will place me out of reach on a high rock.
His sanctuary will become my sanctuary. His peace and presence will surround me now and carry me to His Holy Temple to be with Him forever.

Verse 7: Hear me as I pray, O'Lord. Be merciful and answer me!
This has been my prayer from the beginning. Hear and answer me mercifully Lord!

Verse 13: Yet I am confident I will see the Lord's goodness while I am here in the land of the living.
My confidence is that I have and do see His goodness...EVERY...DAY. He gives me signs daily that He is with me, that He is a good, good Father, that He loves and cares what is happening to me.
He reminds me that all of you are praying faithfully, lifting us up before His throne. You all remind us with your love and encouragement.

Verse 14: Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.
We all have a scary snort in our lives. Be brave and courageous my friends.
Wait patiently for the Lord.
He hears...
He answers...
He cares...
He is merciful...
He is loving...
He is good.

Blessings,
Mandy

Throwing A Fit

This grumpy tumor is determined to keep up guessing and on our toes.

This week, we have experienced an escalation of bleeding episodes. We met with my oncologist on Wednesday. We were able to show him a video of an episode that occurred the night before. Jay dared me to post it, but I'm not going to do that to yall....you're welcome!

This type of tumor is actually quite rare. A very small percentage of metastatic ovarian tumors will come through the skin and become ulcerated. We are having a very difficult time finding people who are familiar with this and are able to help and guide us in the right direction. We have been researching like crazy to figure out solutions for this. We've encountered some good information as well as distressing information. Once an ulcerated tumor forms, it will likely never heal - simply progress and life expectancy is typically 6-12 months. Now, none of my doctors have given me a specific timeline, and frankly I don't want them to give me one. We are well aware of the statistics and all,  I just prefer to not live my life according to them. My God is not a God of circumstance and it is His will in this, not ours.

My oncologist has referred me to a local radiologist to begin palliative treatments to hopefully scar the tissue and possibly the invaded veins that are causing the bleeding. He has also referred me to a wound care clinic in Phoenix that may have better luck in helping us deal with this. Our medical teams here in Flagstaff are wonderful, they simply have no idea what they're dealing with here. I guess we started this journey 20 years ago as a rare case, why not continue on that way?

The night we returned home from my oncology appointment, the tumor had another "hey look at me - I'm a fountain" episode.  Normally, these last 30 minutes to one hour. After an hour and a half, we decided a trip to the ER was warranted.
The very kind and thoughtful ER doctor suggested that they may need to inject the tumor with lidocaine and epinephrine to vasoconstrict  the vessels causing the bleeding. Wisely, he chose to consult with my oncologist and his surgical team prior to performing any procedures. My oncologist said that under no certain terms were they to "muck around" (that was the exact medical jargon used) with the tumor. The tumor tissue is extremely delicate and can easily crumble if stabbed at with needles. The hospital surgical team agreed with the assessment, so, we waited. They drew labs to ensure my blood counts were ok - and they were. After about two and a half hours, the bleeding finally stopped. They gave me plenty of fluids and re-bandaged the tumor. Around midnight they sent us home with strict instructions to return if the bleeding began again.

On our way to the ER, we drove through our downtown. In the summer months, it is THE place to be. People were walking through shops, pubs and enjoying dinner in restaurants on a beautiful summer evening.
As I watched, I felt an enormous stab of jealousy come over me. More than anything, I think, I long for normalcy. I know...I know...no one lives a truly "normal" life. Everyone has something in their lives that creates difficulty and no one has a perfect life - despite what their Instagram page shows.
I immediately began to struggle with a deep envy for the carefree laughter emanating from the streets and sidewalks.

I long to know what it is like to go through a day without pain or fear. I crave the lightness of a life of not fighting this physical, emotional and spiritual battle every moment of every day - just one day of freedom from thinking about death and dying.

I know that because sin came into this world, we are forced to live with those daily effects.  I know that this place isn't perfect and will never be.
I've been reading a lot of books on heaven lately. The marvels and wonders of what we will experience there.
I want to be able to run and soar without pain. I want to explore every inch of Jesus has created for us without feeling tired or weary. I want to have a heart healed of its brokenness and free to worship and praise my Holy God the way He intended. I want to walk hand-in-hand  with Jesus and pepper him with hundreds of questions like a child. There are so many people I want to meet and reunite with and so many things I want to learn.
All of this gives me great comfort, yet I am still clinging to this life and my loves. As Kara Tippetts said after her terminal diagnosis, "I feel like I'm a kid at a party, whose Dad's asking her to leave early, and I'm throwing a fit. I'm not afraid of dying; I'm just not ready to go."
That sums it up perfectly. I know deep in my soul, that heaven will be so much better - it will be more than I can think or imagine, but I'm still throwing my fit because I'm not ready to go.

In all of this, Jesus knows my heart, captures every tear in a bottle and records them in His book. He knows my anxious thoughts and understands each fear. He knows (and I know) that I need to hold loosely to this life and cling to the one that is eternal. He is so very patient and kind in allowing me to work through this. Through it all, He continues to remind me that He loves me with an everlasting love.

Blessings,
Mandy

Grace Upon Grace

From His abundance we have all received one gracious blessing after another.  John 1:16

Right now, our lives revolve around doctors appointments, ER visits, and learning to live a much different life than we've ever known.

Last month, we moved into a smaller, one level home. Our previous home had two flights of stairs that had become increasingly difficult to navigate. My Dad came out from Texas to help us pack and move. It just so happens that our moving day coincided with the hottest day of the year. It was 96 degrees, which, for most people, is not so bad. We mountain folk, however, are very ill-equipped to handle any temperature above 80 degrees. After several days of packing, moving and unpacking as much as I physically could, my tired body gave out. For a couple of days, I simply thought rest would right the situation, until I awoke one morning feeling very disoriented and could not get out of bed. Thankfully, Jay had not yet left for work and I was able to send him a text to come into the bedroom. He attempted to give me a Gatorade, however, my hands were shaking so badly, I couldn't hold the cup. Jay has been doing this a very long time, and knew my symptoms equated to me being very dehydrated and having some heat exhaustion. He helped me out of bed, into the car, and to the ER. After a combination of IV meds and two liters of fluids, I felt well enough to go home.

For many months, the largest abdominal tumor has been pressing against the skin of my upper abdomen. At present, about 1 1/2 inches of the tumor is pressing against the skin - it is now a large lump that is visible through clothing. It is growing in all directions: upward toward my diaphragm, lungs and heart; downward wrapping itself around my abdominal muscle; outward into my liver; and upward against my abdomen wall.The tumor lump is very purple due to the amount of veins and capillaries pushing against the skin. We have begun working with a wound care specialist in an attempt to delay the tumor from bursting through the skin.  Unfortunately, yesterday, the tumor decided to play hard ball. While showering, I noticed a small trickle of blood that quickly turned into quite a fountain. After yelling and whistling for Jay (we really need an intercom system), he ran into the bathroom. "I'm pretty sure we have a problem", I told him. Despite the horrified look on his face, he remained calm and took charge of the situation. He helped get padding wrapped around my abdomen, get me dressed and into the car. He navigated the holiday traffic and made it to the ER in really good time. After being in an ER room about 30-45 minutes, the bleeding finally stopped.  The ER doctor told us that all in all, it really wasn't that much blood. I beg to differ and I believe that he would amend his assessment if he could have seen the crime scene that was now my bathroom.
He and I discussed what can and cannot be done for this in the future. The tumor is inoperable, so that's out for the most part. A vascular surgeon MAY be able to cauterize some of the tissues, veins, etc. if necessary. Blood transfusions may be needed and wound care will be main priority. So we will meet again with my palliative care doctor and my wound care specialist next week.

It has been a huge adjustment learning to live with many new limitations. Life has changed so much in such a short amount of time. Where I was once able to work, shop, or play all day, now my days are filled with more rest than activity. It takes a step and handle for me to get in and out of bed. I have to have help often to get out of a chair or move to a standing or sitting position because I can no longer depend on my abdominal muscles.

I very rarely drive, mainly because I'm on a good dose of morphine and although I feel fine, I don't want to risk it.

A year ago, I would spend an entire day cooking and baking. Today, fixing a bagel and a cup of coffee require a 15 minute rest on the couch.

Despite all these limitations, there are blessings.
God has blessed me with kind, funny and caring doctors and nurses. We are in the ER so frequently that we are beginning to learn alot of the doctors and nurses names.
My palliative care doctor has been working very hard to manage the daily pain that can often lead to exhaustion. She is very thoughtful and purposeful in her actions and I appreciate how much time she takes trying to fit all the puzzle pieces together.

In learning limitations, I'm also learning to rest and be still - things I have never been good at. God is good to reveal Himself to me during these times and bring peace at times when I struggle with limitations.

In doctors offices and ER visits, there is grace. In learning to be still and know that He is God, there is grace. In planning things, I never dreamed I'd have to plan and prepare for, there is grace.
Grace upon Grace.

Blessings,
Mandy