​Well, we are back in the thick of it. 

It’s round two of the bone marrow transplant, and our princess warrior is walking a very familiar path. Almost step for step, it looks just like last time. She’s no longer eating, and the sores in her mouth and throughout her GI tract are back, bringing with them intense, relentless pain. It’s so hard to watch.

There’s really no way to soften that part. No medicine, no relief. Sitting beside your child while they hurt like this… it does something to you. There are moments where all you can do is stay close, cuddle her little body, and whisper comfort while wishing with everything in you that you could just take it away.

And as much it is feels and looks like last BMT, there is something different this time.

We’ve been here before. We know this deep valley.

And even more than that, we know what’s on the other side of it all. We’ve watched her come back to herself, her smile returning, her laughter filling the room, her playful spirit shining through again.

And even now, in the middle of the hardest days, the light is still there. 

The light of Christ in her.
The light of hope, a hope that does not disappoint.
It flickers at times, but it has not gone out.

Her bravery, her quiet strength in the midst of so much suffering… it is deeply inspiring to both me and Ennie. She is showing us what it looks like to continue carrying light into the dark places.

These days still feel very long. The suffering is not small. But there is a quiet endurance running underneath it all, a steady reminder that this is not the end of her story. We are going to make it. 

God is truly here.
He has carried us through a lot.
And He is with us now.
But… it’s still very hard.

We need your prayers friends. We need your support. And we are so deeply grateful for the many ways you continue to show us that you are with us.

If you’re wondering how to pray for her today, please pray for:

Relief from pain, especially from the mucositis in her mouth and GI tract.
Strength and endurance for her little body. 
Peace, deep, steady peace for EvanMarie and for all of us.

The other day, I came across a video of EvanMarie taken just two days before her diagnosis. At the time, we knew she wasn’t feeling well, but we had no idea what was ahead for us. And there she was, sweet and steady, singing:

“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…” 

Yes, baby girl. You are letting it shine. Even here, you are shining for all to see. We are so proud to be your parents. 

Thank you dear friends for holding us in prayer. We cherish you. 

Glory to God in all things!

​Today we walk back in to the hospital for EvanMarie’s second bone marrow transplant and another month long stay. Ugh.
Please pray for strength.

Different from last time, we now know very well the road that lies ahead: the long days of chemotherapy, the quiet calm of transplant day, the difficult stretch of pain management through the third week, and the slow rebuilding and recovery that follows.

We also know that there is “the good life” on the other side of it all. Throughout the past four weeks at home, we’ve seen her come all the way back. Her belly laugh, her energy, her personality in full force. That one truth is carrying us as we walk back through these doors.

Friends, there’s no way around it, this is going to be hard. Watching a child endure this kind of thing never gets easier. But we step forward with a deeper trust than ever, one that has been forged in the fire these last seven months.

We trust because God has remained faithful to us. And present. There have been miracles! and we know he will do it again! 
As always we are incredibly grateful for the care at Texas Children’s Hospital. The people here really love our girl well, and that gives us peace as we begin again.

And as we enter this difficult next stretch, we also need you again. 

Please continue to pray intentionally for EvanMarie, for protection over her body, for relief from the pain, and for endurance through the hardest days. If you are able, consider setting aside time this week for a holy hour, a quiet moment, to bring her before the Lord and beg for complete healing. We entrust her in a special way to the intercession of Blessed Stanley Rother and the Holy Family.

Jesus, we trust in You.
Jesus, we surrender. Take care of everything. 

And we also want to make a very real, very practical ask.

As Cana and I spend long stretches at the hospital, the weight at home shifts heavily onto our children. They have been incredible, selfless, generous, and brave. But this is a lot for them.

If you are able, we humbly ask for support that helps care for them: meals, check-ins, rides, time, presence, anything that eases the burden and reminds them they are not alone. 

And because EvanMarie is still EvanMarie, if you want to make her smile, paint your nails pink and consider sending a video of encouragement (the funnier the better)!

Today, we check in on floor 8 with full hearts. Grateful. Surrendered and hopeful.

We are confident that whatever comes, we are not walking this alone. We are so very grateful for you, our community. 

Glory to God in all things.

Today was Good Friday.

A day set aside for quiet reflection, for standing at the foot of the Cross, for remembering that suffering is real and that God’s love is made manifest in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.

And for our family, this isn’t just something we reflect on abstractly this year. Just a few short weeks ago, we felt like we were living it all in real time. 

The pain.
The sorrow.
The complete lack of control.
God’s presence. 

The BMT was horrific. No child should have to endure what EvanMarie endured in those gruesome chemo side effects. But it’s her best shot at healing. 
No mother or father should have to witness their child in so much pain. It really really sucked. And yet… this suck, this cross, might be my best shot at healing. 

Our wholeness must include the cross. 

And yet, today… I woke up feeling not wanting to wait until Sunday to celebrate the resurrection. Today is different than that Calvary of the 8th floor. Today, we are at home in the front yard. Today I’m watching EvanMarie giggle and twirl in her pink sparkly dress, laughing as she shows me how fast she can run and how proud she was when she got up on her scooter. 

Today, her personality, her spunk, her humor, her wonderfully opinionated and judgy self has fully returned.

We are back baby!

And this… this feels like resurrection.

Not fully. Not completely. Not finished.

But real and true. And worthy of a party. 

I’ve reflected before that flowers don’t always grow on the mountaintops, they grow down in the valley. And that last stint at Texas Children’s was a deep, deep valley. But now we are seeing those flowers.

Small, beautiful, wild! Signs of life pushing green and yellow and blue and purple, through the fertile soil of all of this suffering.

And to be honest, part of me wants to hesitate with this sensation of consolation today. 

There’s a voice that says: Wait. It’s only Good Friday. Stay here. Don’t move too quickly to the joy.

It’s wicked that I would think that somehow, celebrating today would be doing Holy Week all wrong. Agh! Scrupulous much?

Bleh. Not this year. 

Because through this difficult experience, I’ve been reminded again, the Paschal Mystery is not something we visit once a year. It’s already here. It’s now. And it’s not yet. 

It is something we can live everyday and long for its completion in us. 

The Cross and the Resurrection are not separate moments on a liturgical calendar, they are happening together, right now, Sacramentally present at the altar and in our wild and ordinary lives.

Suffering and joy.
Death and life.
Tears and laughter.

All in the same day. Sometimes in the same hour.

So if today we laugh…
if today we celebrate…
if today I even hide a few Easter eggs for our sweet baby daughter…

it is not a rejection of the Cross at all.

It is a recognition that resurrection has already begun.

God is not bound by time.

He was.
He is.
And He is to come.

And so this Good Friday, we remain at the Cross. But, we also dare to notice the beautiful wild flowers growing in this valley.

Love is here.
Joy is here.
God is here.

Jesus, we trust in You.
Jesus, we surrender ourselves to You.
Take care of everything.

Cheers and Happy Easter everyone! 

PS: This video says it all. This is our girl running through the skybridges of TCH in between her 9 (!) appointments on Tuesday. She is the most adorable and brightest light in this place. A living witness to true Easter joy.