Husband. Wife. Daughter. Dog. Dusk.

Today I’m doing something new, different, out-of-the-ordinary, novel, unusual and just downright extraordinary.

I’m driving to Greenville! Again. (Sigh.)

The plastic surgeon and the surgical center both need me to come in and look over some stuff and sign some papers (promising them our first born son, no doubt) and so off I shall go, over the river and through the woods, for another 4 1/2 hour round trip journey. When this trip is done, I will have traveled 1750 miles in the past three weeks, just getting to and from doctor’s appointments.

However, it could be much worse; I could be going to Norfolk for all these visits, instead of Greenville. (The two cities are both two hours away—just in opposite directions.) Now I have nothing whatsoever against Norfolk, mind you, but in order to get to the highway going to Norfolk, one has to drive down The Beach (as the locals call it) which is a 30-mile strip of the Outer Banks dotted with stores, shops, traffic, restaurants, congestion, and stop light upon stop light. (By the way, where I grew up in Wisconsin, they call stop lights “stop and go” lights. I just love that.)

However, when you turn your car east instead of west? This is one of the few stop lights you will see!

And the view’s really not all that bad.

If you like that sort of thing . . .

Since I’ll be making that trip many times in the coming year for ongoing reconstruction procedures and surgeries, I’m extra thankful for an extra lovely drive.

Yesterday’s church service was not too terribly difficult to get through, although I still felt myself tearing up at the oddest moments, like during the offering when a quartet was singing the offertory. I just sat there and quietly cried and cried—for really no reason whatsoever. Next thing I knew, Sarah had reached over, grabbed my hand and held on tight.
So nice to have a built-in comforter in the pew next to me.

Steve made the announcement about my upcoming surgery in a low key way, and then moved right on with the service. We hate to draw a lot of attention to ourselves and our situation, and yet we know that our church family wants to stay in touch with what’s going on. I was surrounded by hugs and tears and words of encouragement after the service; we feel blessed to be in a community of believers that is stitched together by prayer and compassion and kindness.

And speaking of kindness, Steve and I have been given the opportunity to get away for a couple days before the surgery date. We have the (free) use of a million dollar, 5-bedroom home on the ocean for two nights! There will be many stresses and adjustments ahead for him, for me, and for our marriage as we navigate these waters; this time away for just the two of us will provide a healing oasis and give us the chance to gather up our strength for the battle.

As for the house situation? We did counter offer, with a price $1,000 less than the asking price. She can take it or leave it. There’s just not a whole lot more we can do at this point.

Steve is going to be in touch with the person who wants to buy this house (if we aren’t able to buy it), in order to see what he might be thinking about charging for rent. That will go a long way toward deciding if we can even afford to stay here on a rental basis.

Steve and I were even thinking about seeing if we could delay my surgery a little, because we’re so stressed about the possibility of a move right after the surgery; however, we’re hesitant to do that because you never want to give cancer any more ground than it already has.

And so life continues to be interesting. And stressful. And blessed. And challenging. And scary. And full of surprises and joy and tears.

But thankfully, sometimes life mercifully takes a break from throwing complexities our direction and offers instead the chance to go outside on a perfect Sunday evening and take a stroll through the evening’s golden hour.

Husband, wife, daughter, dog, dusk. Peace.

Troubles seem just a tad smaller when gazed at under the expanse of a sapphire sky; they seem a little less complex when compared with the intricacies of the dogwood blossom displayed along the journey.

Right now, our time spent together as a family--this Before Surgery time—is extra precious and extra special. Yes, a health crisis is looming. Yes, a house crisis is looming. But towering over the crises lined up at our doorstep is the knowledge that we can lean hard on the love of family, and the support of friends, and the faithfulness of God. We can be assured that somehow, someway, we will get through this choppy chapter of life.

So enjoy a few pictures that show the peace of our evening walk. And know that your prayers and kind words have helped contribute to that peace we are experiencing, even in the middle of this the storm.

And after we come through the storm, we know our home will always provide for our family a safe harbor--wherever that home may be.