“Yet I will praise You
Yet I will sing of Your name
Here in the shadows
Here I will offer my praise
What's true in the light
Is still true in the dark
You're good and You're kind
And You care for this heart
Lord I believe
You weep with me”
The short verse above is a snippet from a song that has been
on repeat on my playlist ever since I heard it earlier this year. These words
are powerful, an expression of love and admiration mixed with the desolation of
grief that at some point we all feel in our walk with God. I have not posted
for awhile, but that does not mean I have not been continuing to explore the
emotional abyss that is dealing with childhood cancer. Never more poignant has
this struggle been than the month of September as we not only observe Childhood
Cancer Awareness month, but also prepare to celebrate Hazel’s birthday. My
recent explorations and musings have been more internally focused, attempting
to use my pen to make sense of life following April of 2017. I have studied
loss and struggle throughout the Bible, learned the meaning and purpose of
lament, and spent countless hours of reverent silence to allow God to rebuild
that which was torn down over a year ago. I hope to someday reveal the results
of this exploration in an actual published format, a memoir of our walk through
this valley and an encouraging word for others as they trod the same path. For now,
however, I will simply provide an update on Hazel’s progress thus far.
Hazel has had an amazing 2018. We were blessed to enter the
Maintenance phase of her treatment earlier this year and she has been adapting
amazingly well. Compared to last year’s bouts of sickness, hospital stays, and
in-home quarantines, 2018 has been wholly different. Hazel’s cacophonous
laughter can be heard throughout our home day in and day out. She runs, she
jumps, she dances, and she sings constantly. In a matter of weeks she has fully
potty trained herself, she does “homework” with the kids, and draws endless
happy pictures, many of which are hung up in Daddy’s office. She is attending
dance and tumbling classes this fall and starts soccer in October.
The Miller’s life has returned to a near normal state of
affairs with a completely full schedule of activities and school.
Unfortunately, Leukemia still exists in our house, never more evident than at
night as Hazel uses her own tiny hands to push the liquid chemo out of a
syringe and into her mouth or on clinic days when we all once again travel to
Columbus. By all accounts Hazel is doing amazingly well, which means most days
are filled more with rejoicing than with remorse.
Our year is much different than it was last year, but also
much different than many others in our “community” of cancer friends. We have
witnessed loss over the past year that has destroyed families, watched as lives
were lost and hearts broken. We have done our best to comfort others, weeping
with them as battles were lost, mourning the time foregone by an ugly,
unrelenting disease. We are thankful for Hazel’s success, but saddened by the
pain others must endure.
Hazel turns 4 this coming week, and though our life looks
much different now than it did a year ago, we thank God each additional day we
get to spend with her. I don’t know what our future holds, and I don’t need to,
because our here and now is pretty great.
Thank you all for your kindness and support through this
most difficult time in our life. God has shown us his love through loving people
around the world and we praise him for it.
“Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged,
for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with
my victorious right hand.” - Isaiah 41:10
