Daybook
Thursday, July 2, 2026
On the deck before sunrise.
Outside My Window
I’ve been on the deck since about 5:10 a.m. in my pajamas and my favorite black cardigan.
Coffee is losing its attraction for me. It’s very bitter, and the only way to change that is to make it sweet. I’m really trying to reduce my sugar consumption. Not because it 'feeds cancer', but because it contributes to obesity and the chain reaction that leads to increased risk of many kinds of cancer. That's worth writing here, because I had never wrapped my head around that despite my confidence that I had read it somewhere or been told many times before.
Sitting here, listening to the birds and the traffic, I looked down at my arm and saw my dragonfly tattoo. I realized the relevance to our current situation.
Last week, at some point, someone (it might even have been me) referred to Rachel’s cancer diagnosis as a pause. But it’s not really a pause, it’s part of her story. We’re not pushing stop, rewind, or fast-forward. It’s not a pause; it’s more like a pivot. And the pivot is in a direction none of us ever expected, and would never have chosen.
It will change her. It will change all of us. It already has, and it will continue to do so.
On My Mind
It feels strange that this weekend may be one of the last weekends before she starts chemo. It’s the Fourth of July weekend, and she will not be here on Saturday night. I'm considering asking everybody if they want to come over for a barbecue, and then I realized she won’t be here.
How weird, uncomfortable, and yet wonderful that is.
A woman is supposed to leave her family and cleave to her husband (no, they are not married - yet), and I do want that for her. Yet that really isn’t what it sounds like. To put God first and your spouse next—that’s the way it’s supposed to be—but that doesn’t ever mean you have to put your family away or keep them at a distance.
Our family will always support her, love her, and be there for her. It’s the way it’s supposed to be. It’s just a little bit difficult for me.
What is a family barbecue or family gathering without Rachel? She’s always been the strongest driving force behind us gathering together. She has desired, probably more than anyone, strong bonds for our family.
This is the same girl who’s thinking about moving away to Florida for a period of time, or maybe even for good someday. It breaks me and gives me hope all at the same time.
I want what’s best for her. I want God’s will for her. And yet I want to keep her close to home—close for visits, close in relationships, close for family gatherings.
I selfishly want these things.
And I know, with God’s help, I would be able to hold them loosely and let go if it meant something even better for her. Still close to our family. Still strong bonds. Just maybe not in close geographical proximity.
But it is amazing that joy and sorrow can live in the same space.
Such joy in some things that need to remain private for the time being. Joy in the gift of Aaron's presence in our lives.
Such sorrow that Rachel will have to face the giant called cancer.
Around the House
I wish it weren’t the case, but my physical environment and the way it is has an impact on me. In truth, it has an impact on people in general. I guess maybe the impact is stronger on me and John than it is on other people.
John and I had agreed that we were just going to restore our house as it is. We were going to paint the patched walls gray again. We were going to replace the baseboards, bring the furniture back in, fix up the pantry temporarily with the cabinet and some countertop, and get the garage straightened up. Cease all planned updates for a time - the flooring is complete. That is enough for now.
I need the refrigerators and the freezer cleaned out.
I showed it to Josh yesterday, and he suggested I just throw it all away.
For the first time ever, it occurred to me...
I could do that.
Then I realized part of why I’m not doing it is not just time.
It’s energy.
And enthusiasm.
And I know part of that is because no matter what I do, it’s going to get right back to the way it is because of the number of people living in this house and their habits.
Yesterday, when I said I wanted to start bringing the furniture back and put the baseboards back on, John said, “Yes, but we’re going to paint first.”
My heart collapsed.
And I know that’s unimportant.
But in the way that I need my environment to feel peaceful, it did mean something.
It means waiting on people to do things again because I don’t have the energy to do it myself.
Energy is not exactly what I’m talking about.
It’s physical energy, but it’s also mental energy.
Cooking meals is another mental task that I’m having a very hard time doing.
Part of it is decision-making.
It’s the story of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.
Trying to figure out what’s for dinner?
I don’t want to.
I don’t want to buy new food and stuff it into the refrigerator or freezer.
I don’t want to buy new food and waste what’s already in the freezer.
I need to make meals based on what’s already there.
I can’t get to the food that’s in the freezer because there’s no space in the garage to clean it.
I can’t lay everything out on tables, straighten it out, organize it, and put it back.
It’s a chain reaction.
And I don’t know if these things are important.
I don’t know if I should ask God to help me with this or if it’s just a selfish endeavor to bring an illusion of peace to me.
I know where peace truly comes from.
It’s not from a tidy, organized freezer, garage, or home.
True peace comes from God.
And if I’m being honest...
I do have true peace.
I do.
I’m just looking to do what I can to create a peaceful environment in a practical way.
Homemaking is not insignificant or unimportant.
It can contribute to the well-being of our whole household.
So I will accept that John wants to paint the baseboards, and I will help him do that.
I guess what I’m saying is...
What do I need to do to make all that happen?
So I hit a speed bump.
Maybe even a brick wall.
I just need to stop, look for the door, and turn the handle.
Looking Ahead
I’ve always found July and August to be the hardest month for me. It's hot and humid.
Yesterday I went out early in the morning to do something—I don’t even remember what—and the thought occurred to me that even without our current situation with Rachel, the heat would drive me back indoors. I wouldn’t want to weed-eat or play in the yard or do any of the work outside. It’s just too hot, humid, and miserable.
I love September, October, and November.
I’ve even grown very fond of March, April, and May because they are temperate months—not too hot and not too cold.
I think my goal this year will be to learn to really love winter. To look for the beauty of the rest that God gives the earth.
Will my interest in things and my energy return at some point?
How much of what I’m feeling is age-related, and how much of it is the situation?
I’m starting to understand that the period of chemotherapy for Rachel is not necessarily a shutdown. There will be plenty of time between infusions when normal, ordinary tasks can (and must) be completed.
I just want to remain present to her.
I also want to remain present to my husband and to my other kids, who are also struggling through some really hard things right now.
A Prayer
God, help me, please.
But more than any of that, God, help me keep my mind disciplined, just like the Jesus Calling reading said this morning.
Living well is both a discipline and an art.
I’m thankful that Jesus pursued me and, somehow, by the grace of God, I responded.
Have I, like Sarah suggested...
picked up my mat and walked?
"Do not fear My will, for through it I accomplish what is best for you."
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