fasten your seat belts, because we're on an emotional roller coaster

The past 48 hours have held the widest range of emotions.  Wednesday, dad had a scan and got the results that same day.  The radiologist that was on-call at the time interpreted the scan as the chemo not working to shrink his tumors.  We were discouraged and disappointed.  That meant that the months of feeling awful and having no energy felt like they were in vain.  It also meant that surgery was off the table, which then in turn meant that we would be seeking out clinical trials to hope that some experimental drug or procedure would cure him.  Nothing proven to work.  Running out of options.  Terrifying.  Dad and I had quite an emotional conversation about what the future held and things he wanted me to be taking care of if, in fact, he was going to die soon.  There were tears and a deep sadness.  We started the process of preparing ourselves for what was most likely to come: death.  and soon.  It was scary.  I sent out texts to my circle of people that I keep updated on the journey.  Lots of encouraging words and prayer sent by my sweet friends.  The next day, I felt heavy and had to figure out a way to pull myself through school and through work that evening.  People asked if I was okay.  I said I was fine, but I just didn't want to have to explain what was going on until I had enough time to process.  

I get home that evening.  Going through the motions.  Put my guitar down after work.  Sit down at the table to eat dinner.  Look through Twitter on my phone.  Dad called mom upstairs.  I thought nothing of it, until mom came back downstairs.  The short of it is, dad's doctor had looked at the scans with higher resolution and gotten another radiologist and the liver surgeon to look at the scans, and they came to a conclusion that his tumors were still there, but showed DEAD SPOTS.  His tumors are dead.  Which meant that chemo was effective.  Which meant that surgery was back on the table.  And that meant we had options.  We had a chance.  And we had HOPE.  I immediately began weeping.  Tears of joy streamed down my face.  I wanted to go and dance and scream and praise God at the top of my lungs, not caring what anyone thought of me.  I sent out another text to that group of people.  This time, with GOOD news.  I got to share such an incredible, joyous, encouraging moment with so many people.  Praise was given to God.  Tears of joy were cried.  Songs of hope were sung.  I came to school today with a smile on my face and wanting to tell anyone I came in contact with about how great our God is.  Because He is good ALL the time.  

So in the past 48 hours, I have felt the lowest of the lows, and the highest of the highs.  I praise God for what He is doing.  For the beautiful story that He is writing.  Beauty rises from ashes.  From what seems like destruction and heartbreak.  It is those moments that He chooses to use for His glory.  We only have to trust that He knows what He is doing, and that it will all work together for our good.  And that is not an easy thing to do.  We say those words all the time, but fail to realize the intensity that trust Him takes.  To push our doubts out of our mind.  To hold our heads up and say there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  To still say that God is good, even through the heartache.  It is so incredibly hard, but the moment that we realize everything in life has purpose, it makes it just a little bit easier to believe.  So thank you everyone who has been praying fervently for him.  For interceding on our behalf.  God is still in the miracle business, people.