The Paradox of Hope

I want to start this post by saying thank you! Thank you to EVERYONE who followed along, who supported us, who fed us, diligently prayed over us, and to a community that truly loved us like Jesus meeting us at our lowest. I don’t think I will ever have enough words to express my deepest gratitude for all that you have done.

I have taken a step back over the past couple of months from publicly sharing updates which many of you have noticed and kindly reached out. I truly am grateful for the heart investment of so many in our journey. When I wrote the last update in August 2022 I was at an all time low. I was struggling mentally, emotionally, and physically. For over a year my life was a tightrope of suspense, a nonstop high of adrenaline and it was only a matter of time before I imploded. Pittsburgh's hospital stay in July 2022 was traumatic for not only Brock, but our whole family. I had hit rock bottom face first, and there were no pillows to cushion my fall. After arriving back home, I made one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make. It was heart wrenching to have Brock officially move out of our home and into the full time care of his parents.

His parents have been a great support and gracious throughout this whole transition. Not only has our world been turned upside down, but so has theirs as they now take on the role of full time caregiver. Choosing between your husband and kids is a decision I hope no one ever has to make. The hard truth is the kids as well as Brock required full time care and I was drowning trying to manage both. Making all of Brock's health decisions, doctor appointments, running a house, all while trying to raise three kids … it was impossible and I learned the hard way. With a loud thud, I was laying on rock bottom.

I am writing this post as a formal farewell and expression of my gratitude. I longed for the day to write a final post as a celebratory closure to a hard journey … but life doesn’t always give us that fairytale ending we long for. Instead, I want to update you on the personal journey I am currently on, where Brock is, and how hope will always have the last word.

August I sat down with both sets of parents sharing my heart and the decision to take a step back to shift my focus onto the kids and my own self care. It wasn’t until after the decision that it felt as though a veil had been lifted from my eyes. I finally stopped running. Turning around for the first time and having my eyes opened to all the emotional trauma I refused to see before. It felt like I was returning home for the first time after an emergency evacuation to see nothing but a desert of desolation.

Where do I even begin? How? Why? I have spent months ignoring these daunting questions and numbing the pain. To be honest it's easier to FILL than FEEL. The loss was a hunger, a black hole that longed to pull something in to fill it. As humans we learn to love at a young age but no one ever teaches us how to grieve. To grieve is to Lament. Lament is how you live in the polar opposites of what should be and what is. It is an art form unique to each individual and is vital in our ability to do more than just survive. Slowly, with time it allows light to shine into the dark places of our heart. It confronts the closed off broken pieces of our heart that hide in the shadows. For a while I believed my ability to heal was only going to happen if Brock was healed. I felt as though I had lost the best of who I was. If Brock wasn’t restored then neither would I. Shame, condemnation, guilt, all gripped my heart in the realization that the life Brock and I created was gone. I did everything in my power to try and help Brock, and it felt like I failed. I failed him, our kids, our family. The last thing I had the energy to do was read my Bible, pray, or even go to church because I believed it would only amplify the shame scripts racing through my head.

One day someone commented about how Job in the Bible lost it all and still praised God. It intrigued me. I started studying Job only to realize he didn’t sing hymns of praise … verse after verse he accused God of injustice. One verse he had the audacity to ask God to court, he wanted a fair trial to justify himself. Job felt he was blameless and wanted a lawyer. He didn’t deserve to lose it all based on his actions. He was prestigious and feared the Lord. The world he lived in was black and white, right and wrong and our world can sometimes feel the same. Little did Job know God was proud of him and he didn’t get to read chapter one of his story to know that God was pleased and the trials he faced were not linked to actions but a tactful scheme of the enemy. Instead he BLAMED God and thought God hated him. Job had an earthly perspective and the earthly perspective was a living hell. As humans we can tolerate a lot when we have a reason or even understanding of the pain we face, but what about when there isn’t a distinct reason. What if we can’t trace God? Job got so caught up in the WHY that he lost his WAY. Through Job we can see first hand how pain can have a way of twisting our theology of God. It has a way of distorting our perspective and when left unattended leads to self condemnation or resentment. The one thing I admire about Job is that he never stopped talking to God. He lamented and gave a voice to the pain. There is a quote that I love by Blaise Pascal, “all humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone”. I am taking this time to sit in the pain like Job, to give voice to deep sorrow within my soul, to recognize I didn’t do anything to deserve the pain it was forced upon me, and that God grieves beside me. The stillness can be haunting but it’s in the quietness that we can begin to face our hidden fears and start the healing process. The kids deserve more than a mom who is just surviving. It has been difficult as I not only grieve, but provide tools for the kids to do the same. The kids do not leave my side, following me all around the house, and are panicked if they can’t find me. Their counselor opened my eyes to the hard reality that “one day daddy left and never came back the same, so each time I leave there is a hidden fear that I won’t come back” … it was a hard knife to the back as the facts of reality and the trauma of the last year continue to sink in. Each child has taken on their own way of coping with the trauma. It has been a challenge as I try to provide them with tools to walk THROUGH the pain and not around it. Finding them the resources to start their own unique journey of lamenting so they can also start to heal. The days are long and hard as we are trying to establish new rhythms and routines. Some days I look around and wonder “who I am anymore”… I have had to let go of a lot of things that I once held tightly. Most days our house looks like a tornado, the kids clothes don’t match, and we probably forgot a jacket as we rushed out the door, but that’s all just the surface. I have reminded myself of the heart work behind the surface. Our house is a safe haven, the kids' hearts are being comforted, and their Mom is taking steps to be mentally and emotionally present. We are slowly rebuilding. Life is still a mess and certainly upside down, but we are creating memories & decorating rock bottom with throw rugs and pillows.

I miss Brock so much. A lot of people joined our journey right before Brock's first surgery on October 26th, 2021, and to the public that will forever be the day I ‘lost’ Brock. Reality is October 26th was actually the day I held a great anticipation and hope because it was the day I was going to get Brock back. January 2021 was the start of the slow fade of the Brock I knew. By the time we got the diagnosis in September, it was a relief to have answers. I remember crying on the phone with my mom saying, “ I don’t know what to do, Brock just can’t seem to function, it’s like he isn’t mentally here.” My mom would comfort me and say, “we just need to make it to surgery day…get this tumor out and he will come back.” I couldn’t wait for October to come and to see the amazing journey God was going to take our family on. Life turned out differently than expected and I spent all of 2022 tracking down answers, doctors, and treatments … anything to find the ‘magic’ pill to make all the wrongs right. I was one track minded but I wouldn’t change a thing. Fast forward to today and life has calmed down in a sense and it was time to take a step back.

When Brock was discharged from Moss rehab in August of 2022 the care team gave us a behavior management plan and stressed the importance of routine for him. Up until this point Brock was rotating between different houses and there was a lack of structure. Brock’s Mom is amazing at organization, making schedules, and has done a great job at implementing routine as he transitioned into their care full time. There has been some improvement in Brock's short term memory but there is no rational from day to day as to what sticks in his mind. He is amazing with small talk, and to the general public you have no idea of the daily struggles. The increased awareness mixed with the inability to emotionally process is a continual challenge. The most recent MRI showed little to no growth from the tumor since the last brain surgery in July 2022. The neurosurgeon will continue to monitor the tumor and give guidance on the next course of action if and when anything changes. Brock was in the hospital twice in December for other health issues including the diagnosis of diabetes. The day to day continues to be challenging as a lot of the cognitive struggles remain intermixed with other health issues stemming from hypopituitarism.

There are a lot of unknowns and sometimes holding onto hope feels daunting. Where do hope and acceptance collide? Admiral Jim Stockdale, one of the highest ranking military officers, gives great insight as to how he lived through a metaphorical hell on earth. He was imprisoned and tortured for eight years during the Vietnam war. Jim was interviewed years later to discuss his journey and the ‘Stockdale paradox’ , a term named after him and developed in the book “Good to Great”. Jim faced unspeakable pain for years and when asked “how did you deal with it?” His response was simple, “I never lost faith in the end of the story … I never doubted not only that I would get out, but also that I would prevail in the end and turn the experience into the defining event of my life, which, in retrospect, I would not trade.” The interviewer went on to ask, “who didn’t make it out?” And Jim said “that’s easy, the optimist … they were the ones who said, ‘We’re going to be out by Christmas.’ And Christmas would come, and Christmas would go. Then they’d say, ‘We’re going to be out by Easter.’ And Easter would come, and Easter would go. And then Thanksgiving, and then it would be Christmas again. And they died of a broken heart.” Jim Stockdale concluded the interview by saying “This is a very important lesson. You must never confuse FAITH that you will prevail in the end—which you can never afford to lose—with the DISCIPLINE to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.” These words resonated with my soul. Hope isn’t delicate, whimsical or the denial of reality. It doesn’t eliminate our pain but gives us the confidence to stand back up and face the unspeakable. It’s easy to forget that our true Hope was beaten, spit on, and hung on a cross to die.

My posts have been a broad brush stroke over our journey. I have tried to convey our story with honesty and transparency but it is just a surface view. Our journey is multifaceted and has dark depths that a lot of people will never know or understand. I purposely choose to keep these things hidden out of respect and honor for Brock. I say this for people to recognize that before we speak or offer opinions we should take the time to search our own hearts and intentions. It’s easy to speak but true strength is in our ability to listen and discern. Just as many people admire artwork in a gallery and can get a sense of the story being depicted but reality is no one will ever know the whole story behind it or what the artist was thinking or feeling as he brushed each stroke. People only see a piece of the journey that artists choose to reveal and judge the surface appearance.

Our story is unfinished and I want to be present in the process as I continue to watch my Master paint. I need Jesus to teach me … me. I get a sense that I haven’t really met her yet … I see glimpses that there is more to myself yet to be discovered. Strength, resilience, confidence that can only be discovered when we take the time to dig deep spiritually. If God has buried in the earth items of great value only to be discovered by miners, then why wouldn’t that also be true spiritually. In the words of one commentary “what is true naturally is also true spiritually”. There are parts to ourselves that can only be discovered when we are faced with trials and make the conscious decision to dig deep. To look beyond the surface of what is or what was and surrender our expectations. When the earth mourned Jesus in the tomb, heaven just slowly counted to three. He is waiting for me to unlock the chains of shame and start the discovery journey. The act of surrendering expectations might be one of the hardest lessons to learn. In doing so I am continuing to take a step back from the noise to sit in the stillness. You can’t grow without dealing with your emotional distress and needs, it doesn’t work. Denying what we feel and need only distances us from God. Knowledge is just a collection of facts, but wisdom is shown through using those facts for our greater good and for God.

I could go on and on about all that I continue to learn and discover, but I feel there is a fine line between being transparent and seeking approval. I’m not here to preach or justify, but to update with vulnerability and transparency. At the end of the day, I continue to hold onto hope, even if it doesn’t come in the form of healing.