C

Chives. Cherries. Cheese. Chocolate.

The things I dislike most in the world, the things my stomach can barely stand the smell of, the things that I claim allergy/intolerance to, all coincidentally begin with the letter “c”.

Today we add another one to that list.

Cancer.

Pops Miller’s test came back on Friday and there wasn’t a smiley face, gold star or A+ in sight.

So many words to say that all seem so futile.

We had already begun to think that it would be good for Steve to fly back home and see his dad and support the family. Needless to say after this diagnosis, we are packing our winter woolies for England and both getting on a plane in the first week of November.

I question how much use I will be besides making inappropriate jokes to cover awkward painful moments, but I know Steve needs to be there with his family. My wedding ring says “Wherever you go, I will follow”, engraved Hebrew words quoting this passage from Ruth (a book in both the Bible and the Jewish Tanakh):

“Don't force me to leave you; don't make me go home. Where you go, I go; and where you live, I'll live. Your people are my people, your God is my God; where you die, I'll die, and that's where I'll be buried, so help me God—not even death itself is going to come between us!”

This is the promise Steve and I have between us. His people, His family, will be my family. Wherever he goes, I will go.

I never understood the whole Gladney job thing not working out. Until now.

This time when Steve has probably needed me the most in our short marriage, and had to rely on me emotionally, organizationally and spiritually, I am free to do that.  Yes if I had a job, I would have made it work, we would have got around it, you can always manage. But Father God in his sovereignty knew that right now, what we needed more than an extra paycheck was my flexibility.

We know that our family is being hurtled into a painful and difficult time. We are almost positive that both radiation and chemotherapy (another C word I don’t like) will be used to combat this illness.

But once again wise words from my little brother come to mind.

He told our mummy that some boys at school were trying to get him to skip school but he had resisted their temptation telling her:

“My feet are grounded.”

His words continually amaze me and they are what I hold onto. Our feet are grounded in our relationship with God. Our faith is what keeps us standing right now. Our belief of healing reassures us.

As I stepped into this time of uncertainty job-wise, Father God kept revealing passages from Psalms to me:

“You have not delivered me into the hand of the enemy; you have set my feet in a broad place”

“You gave me a wide place for my steps underneath me, and my feet did not slip”

“My steps have help fast to your paths; my feet have not slipped”

In short, Father God promised me that He was leading me into a time where my feet would be grounded. Where I would be secure. Where I would have Him as my rock.

My husband is covered by this word of encouragement as his wedding ring says too, “Wherever you go, I will follow”.

And his family, as his people who are now my people, are covered under that same blessing, that same promise.

Our feet are grounded at this time. 


We stand together, and we stand strong. 


We hope for the best. 


Pray for the whole family, but particularly for the healing of Pops Miller (Brian) as we rely on this final promise:


"But I trust in you, O Lord; I say 'You are my God', my times are in your hand."


This will not be another 'C' word that makes me sick.