​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.

​Team EvanMarie, we have wonderful news: she is coming home today!

After being admitted way back on February 19 for a bone marrow transplant, EvanMarie has crossed all the benchmarks the doctors were hoping to see in her engraftment and recovery, and they have given us the green light to leave the hospital. It has been nearly a month on floor 8, perhaps the hardest month our family has ever endured, but God has brought us through it all.

Thank you for the continued prayers! Home will not be without its challenges. EvanMarie’s body is still very weak, and we will need time to readjust to life all together again, as she continues to heal. But home is where she belongs. Home is the best place for her recovery.

This past month has stretched us in ways we never imagined. And yet, through every long night and difficult day, we have felt the presence of God and our community. We come out of this season stronger, more grateful, and more dependent on God than ever before.

As we enter these final weeks of Lent, we give all glory to the One who sacrificed everything for our sake. In our own small way we take up the crosses entrusted to us, striving to follow the Father in obedience and to unite our sufferings with the suffering Body of Christ. 

Thank you for walking this road with us. This milestone feels like a huge step in her total healing. Glory to God in all things.

​EvanMarie had a good day yesterday and today. Thank God, she’s starting to feel more like herself again, playing games, joking, and being opinionated about everything, especially her parents’ recommendations. After some heavy negotiating (and a few bribes) yesterday, she finally brushed her teeth, which felt like a huge win. She’s also eating a little bit of yogurt and drinking water now.

If you were wondering, EvanMarie’s strong will is alive and well, y’all, and right now that old stubbornness of hers is working in her favor.

We also have some encouraging medical news. Her stem cells have officially engrafted, which means her bone marrow transplant is complete. Her ANC (the measure of her white blood cells) has now been above 1500 for two days in a row, a major milestone that shows her new immune system is beginning to do its work. This means we will be talking about discharge soon. 

These past three weeks have been incredibly difficult, and we want to take a moment to give big props to her incredible siblings: Madeline, Dominic, Sophia, Avila, Lucia, Quinn, Zelie, and Oliver.

Some kids spend their spring break at the beach or on a mission trip somewhere far away. Ours decided to mission right here at home, taking care of one another, especially their five-year-old brother, and keeping the household moving along while Cana and I spend long days and nights at the hospital.

Their selflessness, teamwork, and love for their little sister have made it possible for us to be here with EvanMarie, guiding her through this difficult stretch. We are incredibly proud of our children, and deeply grateful to God for them.

Our family is very tired, but full of hope. 

And we are so thankful for the prayers and support that continue to carry us along this long hard road.

​Praise God, EvanMarie is beginning to feel better as engraftment has started. After some very difficult days, it is a gift to see her talking, joking, and playing again. She still isn’t eating, but she is drinking water, which is an encouraging step forward.

We are closely watching her ANC, the measure of her white blood cell count. Today it is 1220, up from 310 yesterday and 110 the day before. Once it remains above 1500 for several days, the doctors will begin weaning her from IV medications and start watching how she does with eating and drinking. After that, we will begin talking about a possible discharge date.

After nearly three weeks on Floor 8, the days have blurred together. It has been exhausting and, at times, very hard to watch her suffer. But today we are simply grateful to see real progress.

Thank you for your continued prayers. God hears our cries.

I wanted to give everyone a quick update on how our EvanMarie is doing.

First, some very good news! Her fever finally broke. In fact, the first normal thermometer reading we saw in five days came just hours after we last asked you, our community, to pray for it. It truly felt miraculous. While it did spike briefly again later that night, it has not returned since, and she has now been fever free for more than 48 hours. Glory to God!

The CT scan that was originally expected was delayed by a day, but when it finally happened it brought reassuring news. There is no sign of infection. Instead, it confirmed what the doctors suspected, severe inflammation that, while intense, is still within the range of what is expected after the very high doses of chemotherapy she received to destroy her bone marrow before transplant.

Even knowing that, this stage has been incredibly hard.

EvanMarie continues to suffer from severe mucositis, which is affecting her entire digestive tract, from her mouth and throat all the way through her intestines. When she is resting, she gets enough relief to sleep, but when she is awake the pain can be excruciating. She doesn’t talk much right now, and she isn’t eating or drinking because it hurts too much. Instead she communicates mostly by pointing or small shakes of her head, and she receives her nutrition through IV.

I have been staying very close to her side. Right now, her mama is her greatest comfort, and it feels almost impossible to leave her when she is hurting like this. I miss my husband and our other children terribly. Ennie comes as often as he can, and our big kids are being so brave. But for now my place is here with her.

Even in the midst of all this suffering, though, EvanMarie is still EvanMarie. Her courage, her quiet sense of humor, and her deep love for her family continue to shine through in small moments that feel like little lights in a very dark place.

Right now we are waiting for engraftment, the moment when the bone marrow stem cells that were returned to her body more than a week ago begin to take root and start doing their work. Once that happens, the doctors tell us her body should begin to recover quickly and the healing process will really begin.

So this is where we are asking you to please keep praying.

Pray that engraftment begins IMMEDIATELY.
Please pray that her pain is eased and that her healing comes quickly.

We know that in God’s economy no suffering is wasted, but as her parents we are also begging Him , very simply and very honestly, to ease our daughter’s suffering and bring relief to her little body as quickly as possible.

Thank you for continuing to pray for our girl and for us. 

​I know many of you have been praying and want to know how EvanMarie is doing. It’s taken us a little while to post an update because this past week has been incredibly difficult for EvanMarie. It’s like that emotional roller coaster we were on, with some good days and some bad days, broke down and is now stuck… at the top of the loop, and there we are just hanging upside down waiting for the horrible ride to end. This stage of bone marrow transplant has been by far the hardest for her physically and really makes the previous cycles of chemotherapy look like child’s play. The very high doses of chemo leading into transplant have caused intense side effects: mucositis, diarrhea, exhaustion, constant nausea, and a great deal of pain. It has been absolutely heartbreaking to watch our brave girl endure so much.

On top of that, she is now on day five of a persistent fever that only comes down with medication. The encouraging news is that all bacterial and viral blood panels have been negative so far, which means there is no obvious infection in her bloodstream. In just a few minutes she will undergo a CT scan so the team can rule out any hidden source of infection. The most likely explanation right now is that EvanMarie’s body, from her skin to her internal soft tissues, is reacting strongly to the drugs, creating widespread inflammation that is causing the fever.

Even in the midst of this, she continues to fight like a champion. Cana has been by her side constantly, serving as her human “security blanket,” offering every bit of comfort possible while helping her stay calm and hopeful. The doctors continue to reassure us that this stage will pass and that we will certainly see the bright light return to our little girl’s eyes.

Through it all, one thing we know for certain: God is near to us. He is present here in this hospital room. And we are not without hope.

Right now we ask our community to pray fervently, that the fever would break, that the inflammation would calm, and that EvanMarie’s body would begin to heal and recover from this intense treatment.

Please continue to pray with us, friends. We will update you again soon.

Today is transplant day!

We are filled with gratitude and quiet awe. EvanMarie has bravely endured the heaviest round of chemotherapy yet. The past six days have been very, very trying, long hours, tough side effects, moments that stretched our family to its limit. But by the grace of God and some amazing nurses, she made it through. Thank God we are done with that portion.

Now comes the next step: her own preserved stem cells will be infused back into her body. It is a remarkable gift of modern medicine that we do not take for granted. We thank God for the doctors, the science, and the wisdom that makes this all possible.

For now, the poor girl is confined to her hospital room to protect her from infection as her immune system rebuilds. It will be a slow and careful recovery that could take up to 3 more weeks. 

Please continue to pray, for protection, for strength, and of course for complete healing. But today, more than anything, thank God with us. She has made it this far! The treatment is working. And hope is still very much alive.

Glory to God in all things.

​Friends, 
We are entering what is likely the most intense phase of EvanMarie’s treatment: an Autologous Bone Marrow Transplant.

In the coming days, she will receive six consecutive days of high-dose chemotherapy, followed by a day of rest, and then the return of her own preserved stem cells to her body, cells that were collected last fall in preparation for this moment. After that comes recovery, which can take three to four weeks. EvanMarie will be inpatient at TCH for approximately a month. She will then have three weeks at home, and then go back in and do it all again. And that takes us to about May. 

It is daunting. But it is what we and our doctors have concluded is her best shot at complete healing. We walk into it with eyes wide open and hearts surrendered. We trust. 

And thank God for Texas Children’s Hospital. We feel profoundly cared for there, not just medically, but personally. EvanMarie is known and loved by the nurses and doctors, and that gives us deep peace as we step into something this serious.

And we need you, our community, perhaps more than ever.

We are asking you to consider making a holy hour this week for EvanMarie, specifically praying for her peace, protection, endurance, and complete healing. And as always, 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.

In addition to your prayers, we humbly ask for some practical support. While we are spending extended time at the hospital, meals are a tremendous gift to our family and to EvanMarie’s siblings, who are walking this road so bravely alongside her.

And because joy still matters, if you’d like to show EvanMarie your support, we are asking you paint your nails pink (the more sparkle the better). Men, toenails absolutely count! She loves pink, and she loves you, and photos of your smiles and nails will remind her that she is surrounded even when she is stuck in her hospital room.

We are grateful beyond words for this community. Your prayers are not abstract to us. They are tangible. We feel them. They steady us everyday.

This is a serious battle we are facing. But we know we are not alone. 

Glory to God in all things.