the floor lies

I said to remind me, but I didn't expect to need it so much! 

My dad's appointment Tuesday showed that the treatment just isn't working. He knew that it wasn't, the spot on his head all but healed by the radiation once again festering, painful and growing. We knew that it wasn't working, he told us. My sister saw him a few weeks ago and said it wasn't. 

But that was the best plan. Take that pill every day, the one you can't touch with your bare hands, keep the cancer at bay, you can live like that, not bad. 

So when he had his big appointment on Tuesday, and they quickly said, "This isn't working," and the only other option is a port in his heart and a merciless form of chemo...I am still having trouble catching my breath. 

I'm looking at the floor, blinking, wondering how long I could stay there if I gave in and laid down. Would the earth stop spinning and my hands stop shaking if I just laid down as low as I could go? How long could I stay there before someone would need something? 

Turns out, not five minutes. 

I mostly cried Tuesday and tried to breathe, and Nora got sick the same day. Then another and another, six of seven down for the count with a vengeance. Baby can't breathe, can't sleep, and not so distant memories of her in the hospital had me all shook up. Miserable little ones who can't be comforted. Laundry on laundry, dishes on dishes, missed school...birthday parties...sleepovers...finally finally a date night, all cancelled.

Dad and Cindy are coming Monday for Thanksgiving, Phil and Emily Wednesday, Haylie, Braden and baby Jack Thursday. We are doing nothing but trying to get everyone better before he comes, sleeping in a chair to keep baby upright.

Rocking back 'n forth. Getting angry.

I haven't used the word deserving, but it's what I'm venting prayers about. Quietly, all night, wheezing baby, aching heart. 

How could we possibly be going through this again? 

How could all of these kiddos be sick again, how could I lay it all down any better, how could dad be telling me about the port surgery that I remember mom having implanted in her heart like it was last month? How could we be being dragged, kicking and screaming down this path again? 

How am I still asking that question? 

I'm still asking that question because I'm more concerned with what I do and don't deserve than I realize. 

Subconsciously, I've got my expectations. 

In the midnight hours, I don't deserve painful circumstances. Sick kids. More sacrifice. Hard days.  Fill in the blanks. 

I deserve prayers answered the way I want them to be, don't I?! I deserve date nights and birthday parties and happy, healthy kids. My dad deserves a long and healthy, cancer-free life. I deserve things to be easier, I deserve things my way, and I know what's best! 

Middle of the night, looking at the floor, I am already wondering the opposite of what I just determined. 

Maybe, maybe I am NOT seen. 

Maybe I am NOT heard. 

Maybe I am not cared about. 

Have you been there, rocking through those lies wrung in by disappointments, heart-break and frustrations?

As soon as the thought crosses me Tuesday night, as I pat-pat-fussy-baby and let the ugly tears pour, I remind myself what I promised to remind myself.  His perspective.

The floor, it lies. 

It offers no stability, it cares for us not. Despair and Satan whisper lies and loneliness, always and only.

We gotta stay off it.  

A friend in Alabama saw we had sick kids and within an hour had a bag of saltines and gatorade and chicken soup on our front porch, and I am pointed up.

A God-sent friend I've never done anything for texts to check on me, and I know if I asked for anything, she would be on her way.

Matt comes home from work early, because I ask him to, and helps me get off the ground.

Ben hands me a card he made, a crazy-hair, round body picture of he and I, and gives me a kiss, because I'm sad. 

As we are knocked down, family, keep on looking up. Pointing others up. Pulling others up. Speaking up.

Tie His words around our necks, write His faithfulness on our foreheads. 

What we do NOT deserve, He just keeps on giving:

I lift my eyes to the mountains, 

from where does my help come from?  

My help comes from YOU, 

maker of heaven and earth. 

He will not allow your foot to slip, 

our Protector neither sleeps nor stumbles. 

The Lord is your keeper.