Ok, I know this is crazy, but I bought myself a card today. It was such a Joanna card, exactly the one she would have sent me, that I couldn’t walk away from it.
Joanna and I talked frequently about being  chosen. In one of our earliest conversations I told her about how I was always the kid who was picked last for gym, and how one day we were going to play Bible baseball in school. Bible trivia is something I can do, and I was excited about it, until the teacher said we’d be picking teams and she named the two boys who would be captains. Here we go again, I thought. But then the first captain made his choice. “I pick Jill!” “Oh man!!!” whined the other boy. They wanted me on their teams? Really? This never happened. But it did, and I felt great.
Years later, as an older teen, I read in Ephesians where God says we are chosen. He picked me, for His team! He wanted me. And that memory came rushing back, along with that thrill of being wanted and valued.
Jo loved that story and brought it up often. We also would tell each other that, if we had been in gym class together, we would have picked each other, and our team would be the best, even though we’d always lose, because we’d have the most fun.
So this card was just absolutely perfect.

Sometimes I really hate that I’ve lost the person to whom I could vent about my husband.

Sorry, Facebook

Sorry Facebook, I’m not posting the video you made recapping my 2018. Why? Because you don’t know. You have no idea what stands out - and will continue to stand out - from 2018. You didn’t include the car accident I’m still reeling from. You didn’t include the ups and downs of my daughters spreading their wings. You didn’t include the fun things - sword fights and new friends and theater and famous authors.
And you didn’t include the visit to Arizona in January, how very very hard that was, expecting to spend time with my best friend and instead facing the realization that she was dying. You didn’t include that phone call from Chris in March. And you left out donut dates with a 3 year old, holding a  hurting 8 year old, helping a 13 year old get through his mother’s funeral, and brave texts from a 17 year old who is carrying far more weight than he should have to.
No, Facebook, you do not know. You don’t know how those kids have made me sob and yet kept me going. You don’t know the friends who have helped in more ways than I can count, and you don’t know the God Who continues to be my strength when I have none.

Just Sad

My husband did something funny this morning, and I had nobody to tell and laugh with. You know, like when something great happens, and you look around to see if anyone else saw it, and you realize you’re all alone and you wonder where everybody went. Kind of like that. Don and I laughed, and he went into the other room, and I just stood there, nobody to share it with.

Truth is, I could have texted a number of people. But I wanted Joanna. She would have laughed and then brought it up again in a couple years, after I had forgotten all about it. She would have laughed because she gets me, and she gets Don, and she knows how our relationship works and why I thought he was funny.

These are the moments I miss her the most.

Birthdays

I told Don a few days ago that while I was looking forward to Kate DiCamillo, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to today. Not because I’m anti-Birthday and dreading getting older (seriously ladies, cut the drama. You get older every day). But I told him I was very aware of the fact that Joanna wouldn’t be here. No annual Facebook post about how much she loves being my bestie, just a bunch of memories to read through. And no book-themed gift. Although had she been here, she would have been SO excited about me meeting Kate. So no, I wasn’t looking forward to today and I was glad I was kept busy and not really even have time to think about it.

But M remembered. And he sent me a Happy Birthday text. I love that kid.

Maybe I’ll send him some yarn...

Facebook

Joanna is often in my Facebook memories. This one hurts a lot right now, because it’s what I just spent two months doing at her house, with her children.

I missed you today. I took the kids to the library. Seth has no memories  of going to the library. We just haven't been in a long time. He was so excited! He spent a lot of time pointing at "da lotta books!"  He had his own bag. He picked a Gerald and Piggy book, a Dr. Seuss book, and a Fly Guy book. He found a Mickey Mouse movie. He played post office with a little girl  for awhile. He stood on a step stool and helped check out his books. As we were  leaving he turned back to wave. "Bye bye library! See you little bit! I back soon! I more books next time. Bye! Thank you!" You would have loved every moment. ❤️📚

The Big Good-bye

It’s almost time to go home. I’m ready. I love it here, but I miss my husband and I need to be home. Since the day I made arrangements for the drive home, I’ve been counting down. It’s time.

But it just hit me that I’ll be saying good-bye. Not just hugging the kids and promising to come back. I’ve been here a lot in the past two years. Every good-bye has come with the knowledge that I’d return before long. And in the meantime, Joanna would text me with stories of Z telling M that he thinks he should start shaving (while M laughs), of AJ being obsessed with yet another craft project, of S’s latest cute new phrase. Chris sucks at doing that. I give him credit for trying, because I really appreciate that he tries. But he’s not good at it. So I’m going to miss much of their lives. Next time I see them, M will be an adult (yes, really), Z will actually be shaving, AJ will be a tween (yikes!), and S will be a little boy. They will jump in age, without letting me in on everything in between.

I told Jo I didn’t want this. November 2016 we were at Barnes and Noble, and I told her I did not want to be just Auntie Jill who sends presents for Christmas and birthdays. I wanted to be part of their lives. She didn’t want to talk about it at that time. This past January, she told me that I had to understand that if I came here for the summer, I would have to say good-bye eventually. At the time, we both assumed the good-bye would be to a deteriorating cancer patient. I figured I’d just deal
with it when the time came.

Saying good-bye to Joanna was relatively easy. Not really, because it came with a lot of tears. But it was long distance. I was removed from the pain of really having to say it. In some ways we were spared having to say the big good-bye. But here it is. I feel like in saying good-bye to the children and getting into my car and driving away, this is the big good-bye. This is good-bye to Joanna, to her house, to her husband, to her children, to her friends, to everything that is hers. When I return in a few years, these things won’t be hers anymore. Life will have gone on (as it should).

Oh, how it hurts.

They’re Playing Our Song

I spent some time this morning looking up the songs Joanna would sing to her children. In case you’re wondering, the songs are I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You, by Savage Garden (M); Fingerprints of God, by Steven Curtis Chapman (Z); Beautiful for Me, by Nichole Nordeman (AJ); and You Belong to Me, from Shrek (S). She had an eclectic playlist 🙂  Jo wanted the songs in their journals, which Beth is currently working on, so I wanted to make sure she knew what they were.

Tonight I was listening to music, with my ITunes on shuffle. Then our song came on. I hadn’t known we had a song until one day a few years ago when Joanna stood in my living room and happily said “Call me! You have your own special ring tone. It’s our song!” And she swayed back and forth, grinning ear to ear, waving her phone back and forth as the song played.

I’ll Stand By You

Oh, why you look so sad, the tears are in your eyes,
Come on and come to me now, and don't be ashamed to cry,
Let me see you through, 'cause I've seen the dark side too.
When the night falls on you, you don't know what to do,
Nothing you confess could make me love you less,

I'll stand by you,
I'll stand by you, won't let nobody hurt you,
I'll stand by you

So if you're mad, get mad, don't hold it all inside,
Come on and talk to me now.
Hey there, what you got to hide?
I get angry too, well, I'm alive like you.
When you're standing at the cross roads,
And don't know which path to choose,
Let me come along, 'cause even if you're wrong

I'll stand by you,
I'll stand by you, won't let nobody hurt you,
I'll stand by you.
Baby, even to your darkest hour, and I'll never desert you,
I'll stand by you.
And when, when the night falls on you baby,
You're feeling all a lone, you're wandering on your own,
I'll stand by you.

I'll stand by you, won't let nobody hurt you,
I'll stand by you, baby even to your darkest hour,
And I'll never desert you,
I'll stand by you,

I'll stand by you.
I'll stand by you, won't let nobody hurt you,
I'll stand by you, baby even to your darkest hour,
And I'll never desert you

I'll stand by your darkest hour,

And I'll never desert you
I'll stand by you

Job 1:21

As I was driving all over Mesa and Phoenix this morning, God hit me over the head with something. I have become resentful of people who are recovering or are cancer survivors. Not that I would ever say so. I’m really good at calling my sin anything other than what it is. Someone asks me to pray for someone with cancer, I nod but don’t pray. I’ve become much better at expressing sympathy than hope. And digging down deep, what it really is is that I don’t think it’s fair that God should heal some and not others.

We are (I am) so good at saying “God is good!” when the cancer is in remission, when the tests come back negative, when the news is what we want. But here’s the thing: isn’t God still good when the tumor has spread, when the doctor says there is nothing more they can do? The Lord gives, the Lord takes away. Isn’t His name still blessed? If I am trusting Jesus, I need to trust Him regardless of the outcome. I need to believe in His sovereignty and goodness whether He says yes or no. He wants my unconditional surrender.

As the Holy Spirit brought this to light, I cried. I repented. I asked for help. I surrendered. And as I sat at the stoplight, telling God that He is good when He gives and good when He takes, I heard music coming from one of the cars next to me. “It is well, it is well with my soul.”

Thank You, Jesus.

The “It Is Well” Story

My faith became my own when I was in college. I had grown up believing in Jesus, but for the first time, I tested my faith. My parents weren’t telling me what to do anymore. I needed to trust God’s leading and direction. Problem is, I’m not a good listener. I’m stubborn and independent. And so I struggled.

But although I am faithless, God is faithful. His most frequent reminder during those years was the song “It Is Well With My Soul”. When I would struggle, God would hit me over the head with that song.

One weekend, I was particularly mad at God for not doing things my way. I was done. I even stubbornly told God that I was NOT going to church because I knew He’d have the congregation sing THAT song and I was just not doing it. So God reminded me that I had to teach Sunday School so yes, I was going. Fine. Sunday School only, no church service (great attitude for a Sunday School teacher, isn’t it?).

I got in my car and turned on the radio - to a secular station because I wasn’t going to let God play THAT song for me. I was surprised to find out that this station played a Top 20 Christian countdown on Sunday mornings. Fine. Whatever. At least it’s contemporary music, not hymns. The next song was Wayne Watson - ok, he’s one of my favorites. And then Watson started singing. “When peace like a river attendeth my way...”

I pulled over, crying. Ok God, You win. I can’t fight You. I don’t know why He thinks I’m worth it, but He does, and I am grateful.