Seasonal Rhythms

I’ve had quite the journey. Growing up, I was the oldest of eleven siblings and cared for them throughout childhood. Then, I became a mother myself, and when doctors discovered that my second child, Lucas, had experienced a stroke in utero, I learned that the long-term effects would require full-time care for the rest of his life.

Three short years later, my thirty-year-old husband, Jason, was diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor that would eventually eradicate his ability to care for himself and end in his death on August 24, 2010. I became a widow with four young children that day. Then, one year later, the Lord blessed me with a widower named Ryan, who had lost his wife to cancer. We married, and I became a mother to his three grieving children, too. Today, I continue to care for other caregivers through my advocacy work.

With each of these trying experiences, I felt a seasonal rhythm. The winter season represented the death of a dream or the hard truth of a diagnosis. Once I accepted my new reality, winter ushered in spring, bringing a lightness as I learned to find joy again. Summer would follow, often hot and heavy, reflecting the growing intensity of treatments no longer working or caregiving demands becoming more time-consuming and exhausting. Fall represented finality, be it through death, remission, or resolution.

As I maneuvered through these seasons, my prayer remained the same: Lord, use me. Convict me of anything I need to surrender so that your message flows through me without pride or interruption. And he did. He faithfully stripped me of anythi, too. He’s with us during the unexpected diagnoses, treatments, doctors’ appointments, and anything that could have hindered these words.

Jesus knew my pain, and he knows yoursagonizing decisions. He’s present in the sleepless nights. In every season, Jesus enters into our fellowship of suffering and keeps vigil beside us. He stays with us, keeps watch over us, and comforts us—always.