What a difference a week makes...

Colby has been released from the hospital, returned to school and rejoined his beloved football team...from the sidelines.

We are trying to keep some resemblance of normal life before he starts radiation.

Although the black stitches running along the back of his head give away what he has gone through, he is having more good days than bad.

In the meantime, catching up on the ever elusive sleep has become our favorite pastime around here.

We keep having to remind ourselves to check in with each child as they each are processing this new season differently.

And Kai's crutches are still a constant reminder of her own struggle that seems to have been trumped by Colby.

(Although they love to compare scars and MRI stories.)

Our home has been filled with lots of laughter and love from friends near and far.

Just in case you didn't get the memo...

Superman and Wonder Woman are not real.

We have decided to neatly fold our capes in the closet

and graciously

and humbly

and gratefully

and forever in debt to how God is showing us love through those who love us

accept all the support and encouragement that has flowed our way.

Mr. White and I are wading through a whole new world as we decide on treatment options for Colby.

It has been overwhelming to digest and think about at times.

Supertentorial Primitive Neuroectodermal Tumor or pineal blastoma, for short, is what keeps me awake at night.

It's rare. But has a seventy to eighty percent cure rate.

(Leave it to Colby to over achieve in the cancer growing department.)

Now is the part where I write that I have learned not to put my faith in a number.

Every medical expert has an opinion on best treatment option. "Paralysis by Analysis" is what Colby's surgeon warned us would happen if we seek out too many experts.

It is a great term and somewhat true but how can you not ask as many questions of as many people as you can when your baby's life depends on you making the choice?

If it comes back, the rate of cure goes down significantly.

That is what wakes me up out of sleep most nights.

We will be traveling to Boston at the end of the month to begin radiation treatment for Colby. He will have six weeks of proton radiation at Massachusetts General Hospital.

(Yes, we will become Celtic and Patriot fans while we are there.)

He will have a four week break and then begin chemotherapy in January.

Our little big guy will have some long months ahead of him.

Our family is going to be stretched in all kinds of ways.

And it isn't all going to be pretty.

And we aren't going to be nice to each other all the time.

And our flesh will win sometimes.

But I am expecting Jesus to be right there with us

picking us up and dusting us off

collecting all our tears in His bottle

easing our fears and soothing our frustrations.

So I am going to use this little pixel space of mine to document our journey as well as give updates on Colby and our family.

But, most importantly, I am going to be writing much about where we are seeing His light and grace shine on us through this as well as how He is changing our hearts.

We are continually on our knees, constantly feeling the weight of all that needs to be done but He has consistently been making His presence known.

I have purposely turned off the comments here not because I am not coveting your prayers or don't look forward to the bits of scripture and encouragement that continues to shore me up from friends and family, but simply because I am writing for an audience of One.

He is that good and has been so gracious to us.

So if you are inclined to check in on us or join us in praying for complete healing for Colby and peace in the storm, here we will be.

resilient

thoughts on thoughtfulness

fearless