I Am Not My Own

I have been staring at this blank screen for a while now. I feel like this post could go in any number of directions. Do I give the facts? Do I talk about the struggles? Do I write about the beauty of God in the struggles? Do I share about the loss and uncertainty, or focus on the abundance of love and generosity that has encompassed us? I kept thinking that I really needed to blog something, but every time I sat down to do it, I just didn't know what to say. I want to be able to tell everyone that we have a plan. I want to be able to share details and dates and needs. I always hesitate to share what I know, when I feel bad for not knowing more. But this is a funny kind of situation we have found ourselves in, where the questions feel so urgent yet the answers are so slow to come. And when answers finally do come, they only inspire new questions.
I know, however, that we are surrounded by so many people that love us and are anxious to know what is going on. I cannot tell you everything there is to know, but I will share with you what we do know. As of now, I have been diagnosed with stage 3 invasive ductal carcinoma. The staging keeps changing as more tests are being done. I am still waiting on a PET scan, which just finally got approved by my insurance company today. It is scheduled for Friday, February 9th. This will show us wether or not the cancer has spread to any other places in my body. If it has spread, then my cancer will be considered stage 4. The problem with cancer, however, is that it often keeps parts of itself hidden from even the best imaging devices available. I have witnessed the truth of this in my own experience. Based on my mammogram and ultrasound, the doctors estimated that I had two separate tumors in my breast measuring no more than 2cm. When they did the mastectomy, however, they discovered that it was one large tumor about 10cm in size. So, somehow, more than half of the tumor managed to stay undetected from the imaging. This is why a PET scan can only tell you if your cancer has spread. It cannot offer any guarantees that it hasn't.
Based on what he knows so far, my oncologist is strongly recommending I begin aggressive treatment. This would include chemotherapy, hormone blocking drugs and radiation, none of which sound very appealing to me.
The above is what we know so far. What we don't know is what road the Lord has me taking. You see, if I didn't care what the Lord had to say about it, then I would ignore the recommendations of my doctor. I would just say, "It all sounds miserable to me, and I have no desire to intentionally invite such difficulty and suffering into my life. I don't want to do it, so I'm not going to do it. And no one can convince me otherwise!" I am not afraid to die. My heart aches to be with Jesus, which makes death sound so inviting. But what worth would my life have if I did not invite the Lord into it? Though I often fear the potential suffering that accompanies a life lived for Christ, I cannot imagine doing any bit of life without Him. Because of this, I cannot bring myself to walk away from suffering, if I know that God is inviting me into it. My spirit knows that I am not my own. I belong to Christ, and He paid a high price to obtain me. So what right do I have to choose my will over His? So even when my flesh longs to run in the opposite direction, my heart never lets me go very far for very long. By God's grace, I always seem to end up right back where I started; in desperate need of the Lord's direction. This is exactly where I am at this moment. I am unwilling to move in any direction without Him, yet terrified of what He might ask me to do if I choose to do this with Him. But with my hands open, I am seeking His direction. I am asking Him for wisdom, for clarity and for the strength to persevere. But more than that, I am asking Him to write my story in a way that glorifies Him, whatever that may entail.