God's Goodness

King of My Heart 

Written: John Mark McMillan and Sarah McMillan

(Performed by Bethel Music)

You are good, good, Oh  

You are good, good, Oh  

Let the King of my heart be

The wind inside my sails

The anchor in the waves; Oh

He is my song

Let the King of my heart be

The fire inside my veins

And the echo of my; Oh

He is my song.

Last night, for the first and likely last time in her life, my beautiful wife Elizabeth became a Prom Queen. The BrAva MomProm is a ladies-only event the proceeds of which are used to help raise awareness and provide research funding for pediatric cancer, specifically in the Mid-Ohio Valley. Hundreds of women buy tickets months in advance, sell raffle tickets, develop sponsorships, decorate the venue, and buy luminaries with the mission of saving just one more child or preventing one more diagnosis.

Many of the women in attendance are “Cancer Moms” having walked the bleak path of mothering a child with pediatric cancer. Some of those children have triumphed and are thriving, some are still in the midst of their battle, and some now smile down on their mothers from the lap of God. Last year, Elizabeth joined this elite group of warriors against her will, becoming a statistic to some, an inspiration to others, and leader to many. Over the past 12 months I have watched Elizabeth break apart, crushed under the weight of our situation, only to dry her tears, rise from her knees, and keep fighting. Her journey, just as many others, has shaped the reality of our today with a ferocious intensity that nearly destroyed our family. But it didn’t.

Elizabeth and Hazel are the pillars of strength that sustain our family. Last night, hundreds of other women proved to Elizabeth what we have always known, that she is a warrior queen that leads our family with love, compassion, and faith.

Part of the presentation ceremony last night included a dedication to Hazel, which Elizabeth and I wrote. For those who could not attend, I have included it below. Today, and in all our days, we continue to praise God for his goodness to us.

Hazel’s Dedication:

Hazel Miller is three years old, loves the color yellow, and enjoys spending time with her family. Her favorite food is macaroni and cheese, she is best friends with her dog named Serenity, and her favorite place on earth is on a beach with sand between her toes and the salty wind in her hair. Hazel is rambunctious, rowdy, and inquisitive, with a tender love of life that stems from pure imagination and an untainted wonder for the world around her.

Hazel is just like any other three-year old, save for one thing: she has spent the past year battling Pre-B Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. On Easter weekend of 2017, Hazel’s world changed forever as she was diagnosed with cancer. Hazel has spent the past 12 months in and out of the hospital, withstanding round after round of chemotherapy, countless operations, and constant poking, prodding, and testing. Hazel’s cancer journey has been more positive than some, but by no means easy. She has lost the beautiful locks of bright, cherry red hair that she had since she was born. Side effects of chemotherapy have left her weak and off-balance, unable to play with her siblings or even walk at times. Her immune system has been compromised to the point of near decimation, leaving her constantly vulnerable to even the most benign germs and bacteria. Hazel has spent a year in near isolation, missing birthday parties, family get togethers, trips, and holiday celebrations. And yet, Hazel remains unstoppable. The spark in her eyes has never faded and the vibrancy of her life never waned as she has trod this difficult path laid before her.

Cancer is awful. Cancer is hateful. It doesn’t care how much of life you have lived, you can be 83 years old or 3 years old and it will still rob you of time, of happiness, and of security. Never again will Hazel’s family rest easy. Never again will a fever just be “a fever”, a rite of passage of being a normal kid. Hazel’s parents will spend the rest of their days lying awake at night worrying, praying, hoping that their little girl will have the chance to grow up to become the amazing force they know her to be.

Hazel Miller is a warrior, and like so many other little warriors around the world, she has toed the line with a hideous disease and gone blow for blow against a killer. Some battles have been won and some battles lost, but every day Hazel has had the courage to stand up and fight. The impact of Hazel’s fight has touched many; inspiring incredible acts of benevolence by organizations, groups, and individuals that far overshadow the ugliness of the disease with which she fights.

Hazel’s journey with cancer is not yet over, but today the tide remains turned in her favor. Trips to the hospital are fewer and farther between, side effects are less drastic, and her life resembles what can be termed as “normal”. Her hair is returning and maintains the deep auburn hew that was a characteristic of her appearance prior to cancer. She has faint freckles that seem to drip from her ocean-blue eyes, pointing to the dimples that pockmark her cheeks each time she grins or laughs. Hazel’s home echoes with her giggles as she once again gallops through each room with siblings and cousins at her heels, each hoping to catch her and steal hugs before she gets away.

Hazel is fiercely and recklessly loved by so many. Her life is good, her life is meaningful, and no disease – no matter how terrible – can rob her of that.

“And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” – 1 Corinthians 13:13

The Prelude

“Life has many ways of testing a person’s will, either by having nothing happen at all or having everything happen all at once.” – Paulo Coelho

“Daddy, I happy,” Hazel says as she sits quietly playing with her Playdough on a small folding table next to me. Her head bobs to a song only she can hear and her delicate little hands knead the multi-colored dough into a variety of unrecognizable shapes that come to life as elephants, puppies, and babies. Her petite little fingernails are painted deep blue and look like tiny water droplets on the tips of her miniature white fingers. “I know you are, honey,” I say as I glance down at her. Her once gleaming bald head now sprouts a tiny red forest of soft new hair that somehow looks different than the deep auburn explosion that used to cover her head. Hazel’s feet swing happily back and forth under her chair while her dark orange dress spills to either side of her on the seat. We sit together in the den, enjoying one another’s company and the opportunity to put much of the events of this past year behind us.

Weeks have gone by since I last posted, not for any particular reason or because we have been struggling. On the contrary, our time in maintenance has thus far passed gently, almost melodically (save for one short hospital stay due to a fever). I would say so far, maintenance phase of Hazel’s treatment has fully lived up to my expectations. Those who have been through this told us that once Hazel hit maintenance it would get “easier” and life would become more normal again. But life will never really be the same, it will never really go back to what it once was - carefree, relaxed, unassuming. Our life will always be tainted by this dark time, always include the word “cancer”, and always be the most poignant turning point in our time on this earth.

Hazel is doing extremely well, she is attending family get-togethers, going to church, eating out and basically living the normal life of a three-year-old, except she isn’t. She still has five medications to take on a rotating schedule at home, she still has a powerport in her chest where chemo is administered once a month, and she still visits the hospital at least once every four weeks for testing. Hazel still has to fight cancer.

A year can be over in an instant, but span a lifetime. A year ago cancer entered our life like a tornado, violently ripping apart everything that we held close to our heart. I have spent 365 days, 8,760 hours, 525,600 minutes, and 31,536,000 seconds living with cancer. It has permeated my psyche, flipped my convictions, and changed my priorities. Cancer has rocked me to my soul. I have never felt such a deep, bitter anguish as that with which I have lived for the past twelve months. I have spent every second of the past year fighting to keep my little girl. There has been no down time, no vacations, no hobbies that could truly disconnect me from that struggle.

In 2017, my family lost so much – our innocence, sense of security, best friends, and most importantly, time. But we gained an incredible strength that continues to drive us today. I have watched each of my children grow into believers, my wife thrive as a warrior, and my Hazel Basil become a force that connects thousands across the globe. The things I find most precious in my life have not, cannot, and will not be taken by cancer.

I had hoped to write a mind-blowingly thoughtful post for our one year cancer anniversary. I wanted to be able to outline the lessons we had learned, to talk about the blessings in our life, and to tie it all together with some sort of beautiful philosophic theory. But I can’t. Not right now anyway. My wounds are still too deep, the trail of destruction still too raw for me to truly reflect. Perhaps someday I will be able to string together our experiences into a cohesive deposition of struggle, heartache, and woe that was overcome by love and a never ending faith. But today is not the day; for I am far too busy living the life that my God has given back to me, to us.

My family’s story is just beginning, and 2018 is our prelude before we begin rewriting the chapters of our life. I appreciate all that have been characters in our story up to now and I am excited to see what new adventures we all will share. And Hazel, if you are reading, I am happy too my dear. 

“Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.” – Romans 12:9-12