Day Five: Reflections on Rest, Resilience, and Readiness
January 12, 2025
This morning began with a slow shuffle—a reluctant nod to the four hours of sleep I managed to scrape together. My grumpy abdomen chimed in as if to say, Don't forget about me. The night had been punctuated by a peculiar kind of aerobics: countless trips to the bathroom, nearly two liters discharged in what felt like a marathon of interruptions. It’s an odd rhythm of life these days, but I’m finding ways to adapt.
As I wait for lab results to come back, there’s a strange mix of anticipation and anxiety swirling around the next steps—starting chemo. It’s a looming challenge, no doubt, but I’m ready to face it head-on. I’ve been building my support systems: my medical team, my family, and a circle of individuals who’ve been through this journey or are walking it now. That last group feels essential. There’s something profoundly healing about connecting with others who truly understand the power of shared stories and mutual encouragement.
Waiting is a kind of battle. It keeps you suspended between what was and what could be. But I’m eager to get moving, to face what’s ahead, and to begin the work of healing, both physically and emotionally.
A New Kind of Normal
One truth I’ve come to accept is that my definition of “normal” has shifted. Life now requires a recalibration. But this doesn’t mean I’m letting go of my dreams or aspirations. I still want to travel, create memories with my family, grow my podcast Shades of Wheat, and eventually retire into something that stirs my passion.
Looking back, one of the most fulfilling chapters of my life was my time as a public defender investigator. There’s an undeniable purpose in helping people who have nowhere else to turn, in working to ensure that justice—so often taken for granted—is upheld for those who need it most. It was challenging but deeply rewarding, and it’s a kind of work I could see myself returning to someday.
And then there are the simpler joys I miss—like fishing. There’s something meditative about sitting by the water, the rod in hand, waiting. Even when I catch and release, the process feels sacred. Cleaning the fish, frying it over a campfire, sharing it with friends—those are moments of connection, of richness.
Finding Meaning in Struggle
This morning, I tuned into Pastor Lon Solomon’s sermon, Why Does God Allow Christians to to Suffer? It’s a heavy question, one I’ve wrestled with, but his words brought clarity and comfort. He spoke about how suffering can:
Produce compassion – It burns away our shallowness and helps us connect meaningfully with others.
Teach obedience – Growth often comes through surrendering to the process.
Make us desire Heaven more – It shifts our focus beyond the temporary.
Root us in Christ – Like a tree with deep roots, we can withstand the storms of life.
Test our faith – Trials refine us, revealing the depth of our faith and preparing us for eternity.
The takeaway? Suffering isn’t meaningless. It shapes us in ways we can’t always understand in the moment.
Moving Forward
So here I am, learning to lean into the discomfort to embrace the lessons that come with it. There’s a lot ahead—some of it daunting, some of it thrilling—but I’m grateful for the hope of what’s next.
If you’re experiencing a season of struggle, I encourage you to find resources that speak to you. Pastor Lon’s sermon is a great place to start. It reminds us that even in our heaviest moments, there’s purpose in the pain.
Let’s keep moving forward, one step at a time.