An Acceptable Time

March 23, 2026

MRI #22: Stable

Happy Spring!!! We finally made it. The birds are chirping, trees are blossoming, and bulbs are blooming. The blackberries haven’t yet taken over our road and the hundreds of seedlings John planted. I can walk after dinner in the daylight again.

A hike at Catherine Creek in the Gorge was resplendent with unfortunately-named “grass-widow” wildflowers—what would Anne Shirley have to say about that?

As always, to arrive at another spring resurrection, we had to trudge through my fourth favorite season, which held its own delights and disasters. Winter brought Christmas and candles, stunning sunsets, and time with our college girl. It also had a serving of sadness. For example:

During an unusual lull in a support group conversation in February, the cancer counselor suggested a potential topic for discussion: “recurrence”. We had a new group member that day, who, like me, is living in health yet mindful of his cancer’s reappearance. Most of us living with cancer get regular scans (MRI, PET, CT, etc.) of varying intervals. When the radiology report drops in our chart, we quickly scroll to the last paragraph and look for the hoped-for words, “No evidence of disease progression,” or “Stable”.

Incredibly, I’ve seen these words many times now, including on this 22nd MRI report. Upon reading the good news, the dam holding back complex thoughts and emotions cracks, and I’m flooded with joy and gratitude that I have another clean bill of brain health, as well as grumpy grief that my family, friends, and I have to weather these quarterly brushes with uncertainty.

Most of the time, my head and heart rest in a synchronous peace. I generally do not tax my life with forethought of grief (Wendell Berry), worry about unknowns, or allow tomorrow’s fears to steal today’s joys. This might be because of my body’s natural chemistry, the intentional practices I cultivate, God’s gracious provision and answered prayers, or other mysterious factors. But occasionally, a conversation or experience will crack my heart wide open, and emotion overwhelms rational thought. The counselor’s topic introduction of “recurrence” was one such time.

“Listen to Your Heart/You are Not Alone” by Lara Blair Art Studio

I sat quietly through a few other group members’ comments on the topic, listening and watching their faces on the Zoom screen. I don’t often have something personal to share in this group because so little has changed in my cancer experience in the last few years (hooray!), but this topic plucked a string that had already been vibrating. Over the last year, a fellow group member had been declining from metastases to her brain from another part of her body, and we nervously watched the disease progress until she passed away last month.

Since my diagnosis, I have witnessed brain tumor growth and recurrence take the lives of several people I have met through online support groups or within my own community and family. Each one presented differently, depending on the location and size of the tumors, and the unique neurology and health of the person. I’ve also witnessed friends decline and pass away from other types of cancer and disease. Most of these end in a gradual shutting down of body functions at varying rates and levels of pain. In my limited experience, it seems like people who die from non-brain cancers lose their independence and functioning, but people who die from brain diseases can be at risk of losing who they are.

We are human beings, not human doings, although we often trick ourselves into believing and living the reverse. When I think about recurrence, I wonder, “Who will I become when the cancer cells claw their way through my gray matter? “What will that be like for my family and friends?” I imagine people in the early stages of dementia or other neurological diseases wonder the same thing. I could lose my ability to speak and understand language, my personality could change, my emotional regulation and ability to perceive sensory information could be disrupted, my memories could disappear or mutate, or any number of negative neuro-scenarios. It’s terrifying.

I tried putting some of these thoughts into words with my group. My nose dripped and my voice shifted to a high, taut register from the tears that welled without permission. Afterward, over a few days of walking, praying, and talking with loved ones, my heart and brain settled back into equilibrium. Right now, and when recurrence happens, no matter what I think, say, do, or perceive, this is true:

I am a child of the Everlasting God.

Because of Christ’s death and resurrection, I am saved, sanctified, and secure.

I am a temple of the Holy Spirit.

I am held fast, known, and adored with a steadfast, faithful, eternal, unchanging love.

My brain function might show others who I am externally, but God doesn’t need a functioning brain to know who I am inside and for eternity.

I am fearfully and wonderfully made in his image for good works, which he prepared for me to do for as long as I can do them.

Like every other human on the planet, I will fade away like grass, but nothing can separate me from his love.

I’m thankful for the Kaiser cancer support group, other groups through Inheritance of Hope, and my circle of family and friends who are a safe place for tears and awkward emotions.

Strange as it may sound, I’m also thankful for the experience of heartbreak. It reminds me that I’m a human being and invites opportunities for the God of all comfort to draw near, collect my tears, wrap me in his arms, and lead me beside quiet waters where my soul is restored. It guides me to other human hearts, ready to receive mine with kindness and understanding.

“We are all bruised reeds, whether our bruises are visible or not. The compassionate life is the life in which we believe that strength is hidden in weakness and that true community is a fellowship of the weak.”

(Henri Nouwen, Bread for the Journey)

The wounds of grief and fear remain, but they are mended with gold, making my heart even more beautiful than it was before.

“Restoring the Heart (Kintsugi)” By Lara Blair Art Studio

I typically write the bulk of these posts before I know the results of my scan. It helps me remember what is good and true no matter what the report might say. I hope that someday I can re-read my own words and still believe them even when I get my first “evidence of disease progression” following a scan. Even then, I can trust the One who made my brain, knows the number of my days, and whose most loving act of salvation came through suffering, “when the fullness of time had come” (Galatians 4:4).

This is the message of Holy Week. If I can believe that a timeless, sovereign, omniscient and omnipotent God could empty himself as a baby in a teenager’s womb at an exact moment and place in history, make himself utterly vulnerable, grow up in poverty only to young adulthood, teach and perform miracles, submit to a humiliating and painful death, walk out of the grave three days later, greet his friends, return to heaven, give the gift of the Holy Spirit, and turn the world upside down, then I can believe that a brain tumor is not outside of his seeing eyes and compassionate heart.

“But as for me, my prayer is to you, O Lord. At an acceptable time, O God, in the abundance of your steadfast love answer me in your saving faithfulness.”

(Psalm 69:13)

God is saving me in faithfulness, and right now that looks like stable scans, health, and time with my family and friends in the land of the living. When my body succumbs to disease, it will not be without a fight, but it will be at an acceptable time in the abundance of his steadfast love.

“When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:
‘Death is swallowed up in victory.’
‘O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?’”

(1 Corinthians 15:54-55)

Thank Your Brain
Choose Joy
Be Grateful

Recommendations:

Winter has been a good season for books and audiobooks—here are some of my faves:

• “Theo of Golden” by Allen Levi—don’t let the fact that this is on the NYT Bestseller list dissuade you from the depth, kindness, joy, heartache, and delight that this book contains. John recommended Theo to me a couple of years ago and am so glad I finally got around to reading and listening to it.

• “The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion” by Beth Brower (I’ve read/listened to the first five volumes, but there are at least eight)—clever, funny, cozy, with a delightful heroine and interesting characters, excellent audio narration.

• Full cast, dramatized, abridged, Audible Original version of “David Copperfield”. Very entertaining performance, though I’ve never read the original classic by Dickens.

• “Twice” by Mitch Albom—I grabbed this off the Lucky Day shelf at the library and John and I both read it before it was due. A quick read with a compelling premise involving time travel.

• “Always Remember: The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, the Horse, and the Storm” by Charlie Mackesy. This, and his previous book with the same characters are full of wisdom, kindness, courage, and hope with beautiful illustrations. Thanks, Mom!

  

  Author and illustrator Charlie Mackesy, 2025

New album by J. J. Heller with covers about time. It releases with its title track on March 27th, but most of the tracks have already been released as singles. I’ve long loved the song “100 Years” by Five for Fighting, and Heller’s version is also a tear-jerker, even more now than it used to be (YouTube link).

Thankful Thoughts:

• Christmas with my favorite people

• Jack playing hammered dulcimer at the Christmas Eve service

• Our 26th wedding anniversary

• Seeing my kids flourish as young adults

• Joshua’s continued health on his 21st birthday

• “All Creatures Great and Small” Season 6

• Wheaton College

• Old and new friends

• Going to an Ash Wednesday service with Jack and his girlfriend

• Jon Guerra concert with John

• Ben Rector with Oregon Symphony concert with John and Jack

• Hellebores (Lenten Rose) that blossom in February

• March daffodils and hyacinths

• Birds chirping at dawn

• Evening light and evening walks

• God’s presence and strength on days I feel weak and tired

• Opportunities to care for others

• My life, in this place, with these people

Prayer Requests

• Continued stable scans, health, energy, medical research

• Energy, grace, and compassionate presence with hurting, sick, and burdened people

• Wisdom, love, and joy in this transitional stage of parenting young adults

• Wisdom for my yesses and no’s; love, grace, and faith for the next right things

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This is John’s birthday week. Happy Birthday, John! I’m so glad I get to be your favorite person.

Jasper making it clear that he is actually John’s favorite person

One of the many things I love about my husband is his amazing ability to answer or solve almost any question thrown at him, with intelligence and humility. And if he doesn’t have an answer (rare), his insatiable curiosity compels him to learn about it. Not only that, but he can put into practice and/or teach what he knows. Our kids have no idea how lucky they are to have a dad like that. Other family and friends have caught on and John is their go-to, phone-a-friend for almost any topic or problem under the sun. If you have a question for John, ask it in the comments or in a message to me, and he’ll pick one to answer in a future post. Or surprise him for his birthday and share something he’s answered or done for you.

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Daisy brain photo attribution