The last miles are the longest.

​A few weeks ago, I wrote that this season was beginning to feel like the end of a very long road trip. We can almost see home, but somehow these last few miles feel longer than all the ones before them.

Tomorrow, EvanMarie goes back into the hospital for round three of five of immunotherapy. And truthfully, Cana and I are struggling with this one.

​EvanMarie has been doing so well. She’s back at school. She’s playing. Laughing. Being sassy on a runway for Sky High for Kids. Living the beautifully ordinary life of a three-year-old.

And now we have to pack the bags again. Back to the hospital. Back to the wires and monitors. Back to ten-hour infusions of a medicine we thank God exists, and also absolutely hate watching our daughter receive. I wish I could say we’ve gotten stronger at this.

Some days I think we have.
Some days Cana and I look at each other and think, We’ve got this. We can do three more of these. God has carried us this far. LFG!
And other days we want to curl up in a ball and sob:
Why?
Why her?
Why does our sweet little girl have to hurt again?
Why, when she finally feels good and life starts looking normal, do we have to walk her back through these hospital doors?
I haven’t found an adequate answer. 

All I know is that tomorrow we will pack the bags. We’ll walk through those doors. We’ll hold our little girl when she hurts. And we’ll trust God again. Not because we aren’t scared or angry or exhausted, but because He truly has carried us every mile so far.

And right now, we need you again.

Please pray for EvanMarie. Pray that this round is gentler. Pray for her little body and skin. Pray for Cana and me. Pray for her brothers and sisters as our family divides itself between home and hospital again.

For more than a year, so many of you have carried us with your prayers, meals, messages, generosity, and love. Please don’t stop now. We can see home from here. These last miles just feel awfully long.

Jesus, we trust in You. Glory to God in all things.

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