“Wake Me Up When September Ends”
My senior year of high school started off awesome. I was part of a teaching program that allowed me to leave school two hours early to teach at a nearby elementary school. I was finally connecting with friends, and the White Sox would soon clinch the title of World Series champions.
But then September came.
My grandpa—who had been ill most of my childhood but hospitalized for six months—passed away. For the second time in my life, I felt extreme grief, that the weight of life was crushing me.
That September marked the trajectory of how I feel about most Septembers. This old Green Day song caught my attention then.
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Last year, I counted down the days until September. How many more chemotherapy sessions would I need to earn my sapphire slippers and reclaim my health? I was ecstatic for September. My daughters would have the best teachers that school year, I would be done with treatment, and I would be on my way to celebrate at the happiest place on earth.
Quickly, no treatment turned into hypothetical situations, extra scans, and a supposedly twenty-five minute MRI that took more than two hours, requiring stopping and starting back up seven times.
By default, I found myself humming, “Wake me up when September ends.”
Somehow, disease has a way of silencing seasons, and here I am today. Alive and cancer free, but far from okay. It must be September.
This summer, I poured all of my energy into my family. Shortly before school began, the panic set in. I was wiped, exhausted, and unable to keep up with daily tasks. Come to find out my hormones—or lack thereof—were waging war against my body. Between my mood swings, lack of focus, brain fog, short fuse, and exhaustion, the repercussions of cancer and treatment side effects were getting the best of my moments.
“Wake me up when September ends.”
So, here’s to my upcoming “megapause.” Pun definitely intended. It hurts my heart to break away from attempting to write regularly. But I’m going to use this time to rebuild the bridges cancer burned. I’m looking forward to ingraining healthy rhythms in my everyday life, cooking, resting, building deep connections, volunteering at school, and rediscovering God’s unchanging grace.
The pastor at my hometown church recently preached on the Israelites exiting Egypt. You can find the sermon HERE. He draws attention to the condition of the Israelites’ heart being in between slavery and the promised land. They weren’t where they wanted to be.
Are you where you want to be?
Are you in between where you were and where you want to be?
Like the pastor goes on to say, where are you at “For now?”
My three and a half year old, who mustered up the strength to have a different caretaker each day for two years, isn’t potty trained and his preschool won’t have him, “For now.”
The transplant that kept Hodgkin’s Lymphoma away destroyed my reproductive system, “For now.”
The gals I send off each day are tip-toeing their way through their new school, “For now.”
It’s September, “For now.”
I’m believing God is using this season of transition to continue to draw me to Himself. I naturally wouldn’t sign up for change. I think that’s why I somehow always lose my cool in September. Summer is turning to fall. Pajama days on those unplanned summer days are evolving into school-bell hustles.
I can hear my best friend speaking over me, “Fill the gap with trust.” Easy for her to say. She lives on the delicious side of the big lake. Just like Ecclesiastes says,
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
He has made everything beautiful in its time. (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8,11)
Here’s to filling the gaps of healing, hurt, and suffering with trusting God’s goodness in my life. He provided for my family when my family lost our source of income during Covid. He preserved my life when I was in between doctors diagnosing the pain I thought for sure was just in my head. His goodness showed up everywhere when my family and I gasped for air on my journey to be cured. He will indeed do it again. He is pointing me to deeper resilience in Him.
Good fruit is coming, even in the middle of the mess.
When I come back, I will be sharing exactly how I embraced September: “Bridging the Gap: Back to School, Warfare, Boston, and Menopause."
I am heading to Boston!
I was chosen to write an article for adolescents and young adults walking through cancer as a patient, caregiver, or medical professional. On top of the magazine publishing my article, they’ve invited me to share my piece at their magazine event in Boston. Would you be so kind as to rally around me in prayer? Drop a comment with the day and time you’ve marked me down in your calendar. I will be traveling from September 22nd through the 24th.
I’d love any Boston tips too! I’ll be one of the few not eating the coveted seafood. Fun fact about me: I don’t eat anything that swims.
Despite my “megapause,” there's gold out there. Let's find it together!
