Stepping into the Darkness

I've heard it said that when you reach the end of the lighted path, that is when you need to step into the darkness, and have faith that everything is going to work together for your good. 

Our last couple of weeks I have been a nervous wreck, trying to discern how to take the next step.  So many times my husband has just wrapped his arms around me tightly, helping me to remember to "be still and know."  I am amazed by his outer calmness.  I have always been an adventurous soul, but there is something about the reality of needing to take Audrey away from home for the next phase of her treatment that terrifies me.  The reason is right in front of me.  I look into the faces of my children and seem to see an underlying plea for me not to leave again, to instead fight for our family to stay together.  There are so many things happening beneath the surface of their minds and hearts through this whole process, so many worries and hopes and unseen sacrifices.  It shows up in their prayers, their playtime, their nightmares.  One of my sons is even being treated for a medical issue he developed as a result of all the stress he's been internalizing over the past 16 months.  I am working hard night and day to figure out the logistics of how to get us out to Boston for a series of treatments, all the while knowing that these treatments may not work, that she may need even more surgery.  I can't tell the children that I'll only be gone for a week, two weeks, a month, two months.  I look into their faces, their hearts, and I know what I need to do.  Last year I spent weeks in the hospital before Audrey was born because of the way her condition ravaged my body.  Then I lived another six weeks in Salt Lake to stay near Audrey during her first weeks in the NICU.  Then when I could no longer stand it, I moved home and commuted up every day for the next four months, leaving both the older children and my one year old baby, my sweet amazing son who had been inseparable from me before all of this happened, for many hours a day.  Then when we thought Audrey was going up to Primary again last month for a week, I knew instinctively that I needed to stay by her side and never doubted, never visited home during those busy weeks that stretched into nearly a month because of her complications, and it was worth it.  She is healed.  We learned a lot. I loved our visits from the family and friends, and just knew the entire time, to the bottom of my soul, that I was in the right place.  We've been thrown so many frustrating curves in this journey.  But I have faith.  The Lord has never let me down when I have done all I can do to fulfill my part; he has always made up the difference to give us what we truly need.  So I am pushing forward with faith, and planning toward September as a departure date, with the possibility of a short trip out in August for some initial appointments.  I have pondered all of this so much, and felt that same strong conviction that I need to try hard to get a temporary place for the entire family out there.  We have counseled as a family and they all agree.  We know that my husband can't stay out the entire time because of his responsibilities at work, so I've been able to work it out with my mother to take his place for about a month.  I hope that by the time mom needs to return home, we will either be ready to return home or I will have made enough trusted friends out there to be able to arrange a sitter as needed.  The thing about this is, I know it's right.  If my being out there for the entire time alone with Audrey was right, I know I would feel it.  I have searched my heart, and this is not fear talking.  We need each other. 

This is why when I first learned about the realities of going to Boston it drained the color from my face.  I had no idea that housing and parking and travel in that area cost six times what they do here in our hometown.  There really is not a place available that I can take my children with me, within an hour of the hospital, and expect to pay less than $6000 a month before food and gasoline.  Believe me, I have spent dozens of hours searching every resource I can find.  The Ronald McDonald house there is reserved for cancer patients only.  Other hospital housing is available (for a reasonable but higher price), but there is a limit of four people including children there.  Short term rentals are available, but they start at about $5000 a month.  Some friends pointed me toward some websites for furnished vacation rentals, and after a lot of searching I received one reply, out of dozens of inquiries, from one place that made my heart stop.  It looks perfect.  A furnished 3 bedroom, with a big yard, room for everyone, in a safe quiet town near the coast, for $2000 a month during the off season (September through May)-- normally approximately that per week.  The green grass and blue skies and distant water in the photographs made me instantly relax. In short it looks a lot like home, and the owners have been extremely kind in every correspondence we have shared since.  When I pull out of my reverie of imagining my family there, I realize there is no way we can afford even that rent.  Not alone, at least.  We talked it through extensively, and have been praying every night and day, trying to be humble and open to whatever is right in the situation. We know it is going to take a lot of flexibility and a patchwork of many solutions to work everything out, and in the end we have felt that it is time to ask for help.  Audrey's needs have already exhausted virtually all of our financial resources, and this next step is going to take us reaching out for helping hands in order to get there.  I had barely begun the brainstorming process when a friend of ours created this fundraising website for Audrey.

Please consider sharing it with your friends and family, we need to spread her story as far as we can.


I'm also hoping to organize a benefit concert, car wash and yard sale, but the idea of organizing everything at once is overwhelming, so I have to take one step at a time.  I take a deep breath and try to remember, "be still and know." My Father in Heaven has never let me down.  I know this will all work out, even if I can't see the path clearly now.