jdaily's Xanga

Wrapping things up

Mon, 10 Jul 2006 05:59:58 GMT

I had more appointments this last week - got poked, prodded and measured - mostly in preparation for the radiation treatments which begin on Tuesday. The measuring part was actually kind of interesting - they used a caliper-type device to take measurements of the thickness of my head, neck, chest, etc. and on down to my ankles so they can calibrate the dose of the radiation for each of those areas. Also they measured my lungs via x-ray so they could make customized lung-blocks (so the radiation doesn't cook my lungs), and the thickness of my chest wall via a CT scan. Then I stood in the radiation "chamber" (I assume that's what it's called - it looks like a glass-walled shower stall) and they drew an outline of my body for some reason - I didn't catch why. Tomorrow I will go back and they will re-check all the measurements, then the real thing starts the next day.

On Friday I had some outpatient surgery as they installed an intravenous catheter into my chest. I'll spare you the details, but what they'll use it for is administering the initial chemotherapy and subsequent meds, plus it can be used for drawing blood whenever they need it. Mark learned how to take care of it while I'm at home (daily "flushings," weekly dressing changes).

I also spent a lot of time at work, or working from home, whenever I could. It was kind of tricky trying to think three months in advance and write down procedures, reminders, etc. for everything I know will have to be done. I ended up with a seven-page typewritten list and cringed when I delivered it to my co-workers. It's another motivation to get well quickly -- I really do like my job and I look forward to getting back to it and back into my responsibilities.

Today Jessica and I went to Target and bought a bunch of stuff I'll need while in the hospital and in the temporary housing I'll be in afterward. It never ceases to amaze me how a short trip through Target can add up to a receipt with triple digits. "But I only got a few things..."

Mostly I am doing okay with everything as the treatment day draws closer - but the hardest part is knowing I will be away from home for a couple of months, and from the regular routines of my family and friends. I do not do transitions well. I want to pack up everything and everyone with me so I can be totally surrounded by the familiar while I go through this journey. And I know it's not possible. But I'm believing for God's grace to carry me through.

This morning on the way to church I started singing along with one of my favorite new songs (which I would upload here if I could) - it's on the new Hillsongs United Live cd; the song is called "From the Inside Out." Anyway, it was probably a bad idea to start singing - because then my heart kind of got all mooshy and started crumbling, and the tears started, and the mascara I just put on was making tracks from the corners of my eyes. Not a good look. But I was reminded yet again of God's faithfulness...how He is always with us, with an everlasting love that shines from His everlasting glory. In His perfection, He accepts us and covers us and guards us - imperfect as we are. His love is humbling, His strength melts my defenses.

"Everlasting, Your light will shine when all else fades.
Never ending, Your glory shines beyond all fame.
And the cry of my heart is to give You praise
From the inside out of my soul."

Favorite Things

Mon, 03 Jul 2006 04:00:59 GMT

Jessica and I went to see "The Lake House" last night. It was pretty good, actually better than I expected. I admit to having a hard time understanding how the two-years-apart time thing worked out at the end. Jessica has explained it to me multiple times and I almost understand, but not quite. I assume they don't want you to think about it that hard.

I decided that I like Keanu Reeves in spite of the fact that he sounds like he's reading overdubs for a Japanese soap opera.

Anyway.....

Sometimes you just have to go through some favorite pictures to cheer yourself up. That's what I did today.

Christmas morning...the contented aftermath.

Friends at the table (at Jessica's last birthday party).

Friends in the back yard (our dear friends, the Gilpins).

Handsome guy in the backyard.

Jessica experiences Birkenstocks.

Jessica and James with their Grandpa and Grandma.

QTs.

Sunbabies.

Windblown Sun Princess.

Under the arbor with my sweetheart.

Too Much Information

Wed, 28 Jun 2006 20:27:14 GMT

This week's marathon of appointments is finally over. I don't have another medical appointment until July 5th (except for the dental appointments I still need to make.) Yay.

On Monday, Mark and I met with a Bone Marrow Transplant (BMT) case manager who gave us an overview of what will happen to me, the procedures and medications, the risks and side effects, etc. Then I signed a stack of consent forms; it felt like we were buying a car except the atmosphere wasn't as cheerful.

I did not like hearing about all the potential side effects, especially about the mouth and throat sores that result from the radiation, chemo, and several of the medications they'll be giving me. She said most patients do not attempt to eat while they have the mouth sores (for about 2-3 weeks) so they are on IV nutrition. This did not make me happy, but I remember not feeling like eating much anyway when I was in the hospital in February since I couldn't taste anything and was nauseous. Still, I will be praying and asking God to minimize the mouth sores and nausea so I can get back to a semi-normal eating pattern as soon as possible.

I'll be on a special low-microbial diet when I do start eating, which also does not make me happy. (It's interesting to note that, among the myriad of risks and side effects I was informed of, I am most concerned about the food-related ones. Tells you where my priorities are. Let my hair fall out and my hands shake -- just let me eat good food!) Again, my prayer is that God will help my body recover quickly so I can get back to a normal diet (including fresh fruits and vegetables) as soon as possible. I haven't found out yet whether I'll be able to eat hummus -- this could be a big factor in how cheerful I am during my recovery.

Other appointments this week included my final visit with the hematologist who has been treating me (my care is now transferred to the BMT team), an echocardiogram, tests of my lung functions, a bone marrow biopsy, a meeting with a social worker, and a class on how to care for my intravenuous catheter (it is like a long-term IV port so I don't have to keep getting poked every time they draw blood or give IV medication). Fortunately for me, Mark was the primary student in the catheter care class -- my brain was having only intermittent moments of clarity by then.

I was still mostly stewing about the appointment with the social worker. I did not like her. I tried...while she was talking to Mark I was telling myself that she really was a nice person who meant well and I needed to give her a chance. But there is something about a certain type of person - in this case, a woman who did very little to enhance her physical appearance, speaking slowly in soft, low tones with a faint frown on her face while she asked questions such as, "How are you coping emotionally? Are you taking any recreational drugs?" I could feel my jaw tightening and my skin prickling. It's hard for me to concentrate with people like that; I'm just mentally trying to fix them. Put on some makeup, cut your hair, wear something that was made in this decade, sit up straight, quit talking to me like I'm mentally deficient, put a real smile on your face once in a while. Sorry, what were you saying?

I've got to work on that.

Anyway, when Mark and I got home last night we were rewarded with a lovely, healthy dinner buffet laid out by Jessica. I ate like a starving person (the food thing again -- I'm storing up), took 2 Tylenol, and watched baseball. I tried to watch "House" with the kids but had to change the channel during all the gory parts. Later, at about 10:30 p.m. which is when my household always seems to get a second wind, Mark and I were walking up and down the street with flashlights looking for Buster (the indoor cat who loves to escape). Then a bug with the body of a Goodyear blimp waddled out from under the sofa and Jessica trapped it with Tupperware until Mark killed it. We went to bed close to midnight, as usual, with Buster at our feet and the sound of crickets and the scent of summer jasmine slipping in through the screen door. I love being home.

Baseball

Mon, 26 Jun 2006 01:33:38 GMT

My mind is tired. Pre-transplant radiation and chemo will start in about two weeks, and I have a lot to do in the meantime. This week I have almost three days of appointments at Stanford (signing consent forms, echocardiogram, pulmunary testing, biopsy, etc. etc.) plus a couple other appointments I need to make (teeth cleaned, any possible cavities filled -- to minimize the chance of infection in my mouth). And stuff to do at work, since I'll be gone during my busiest time of the year. I know it will all get done, at least the most important stuff will. But my mind is tired from trying to figure it all out. So I spent the afternoon watching baseball.

When I was in the hospital for an infection back in early April, feeling very sick and weak, when I heard a familiar voice coming from the TV.

"Ray Fosse!" I was so delighted. Ray Fosse is the "color commentator" for the Oakland Athletics, "my" baseball team. In the midst of my sickness, I had forgotten that baseball season was beginning. A tear actually rolled down the side of my face, and even I was surprised at the poignant emotion I felt just because the baseball season was here. As I watched the game, though, I started to understand why I was feeling what I did.

When I was a kid in the late '60s, I learned to love baseball watching the Cleveland Indians in my hometown. They were a perpetual last-place team, but I was a faithful fan, perhaps because I felt like a perpetual loser myself. I sat up in my room with the radio on and hand-drawn (hand-drawn! with a ruler and sharp pencil! That tells you what my social life was like...) scorecard, carefully keeping track of balls and strikes, just sure that the Indians were going to break out and become winners. Of course, when they finally did become a winning team many years later, I lived on the other side of the country. But I still cheer for them anyway, except for when they play the A's.

Ray Fosse happened to be a catcher for the Indians in those days and was later traded to the A's, playing on their championship teams in the '70s. I started listening to him and the rest of the broadcast team about 15 years ago, when my son James was just a toddler. James was born loving baseball, and at age 2 could identify most of the A's players by their uniform numbers. So we watched together, and became faithful fans in the good years and the bad. I always had the game on, whether I was driving or working in the garden or painting a room. I liked listening to the broadcasters' banter, I appreciated that I didn't have to worry about bad language or offensive jokes. The only thing to get angry about was the occasional bad umpiring call. Year after year while I went through waves of personal growth and trauma, baseball was a peaceful soundtrack, where the saddest thing that could happen was an opponent's walk-off homerun in the bottom of the ninth. It was a faithful friend no matter if I was doing well or terribly, strong or weak, together or a mess. And I've tried to return the favor.

And I guess that's what tipped my heart and made me feel so sentimental in the hospital room. After several months of the feeling like my world had been turned upside down, of learning new terminology like platelets and neutrophils, of dealing with fevers and mouth-sores and poker-faced doctors...I was reminded that life as I knew it was still going on. Ray Fosse and his friends were still teasing one another in between batters, the Cleveland Indians are still trying to win a World Series, and the worst thing that can happen there is still a walk-off homerun. Hearing the game made me want to get back...to normal, to home, to my life.

Amazing Love

Fri, 23 Jun 2006 17:25:10 GMT

I was reminded yesterday just how much I love my children. It amazes me the depth and strength of the love that God puts in the heart of parents for their children, and yet to know that is but a small sample of His love for us. My son made a mistake that briefly put him in danger and scared the daylights out of several people, his father and I included. I should have been angry with him but the anger just wasn't there. All I could think of was how much I loved him and wanted him to be safe. I remembered the bone-headed things I did when I was his age (and there were many during that "temporarily insane" period that I think lasts from age 13 to at least age 21). I wanted to gather him and his sister onto my lap like I did when they were little and wrap my arms around them...except they are now both taller and stronger than me and it would be more comical than sentimental.

Both of my children have been beautiful surprises to me, in different ways. I thought of Jessica recently when I was admiring a beautiful piece of jewelry. I asked the shopkeeper about the stone and she told me a name I had never heard before; it was a rare semi-precious jewel. I could hardly take my eyes off of it. It seemed to hold all the colors of the ocean, changing subtly as I turned it in the light. That is how Jessica has seemed to me. She is startlingly beautiful, not fitting any mold or predictable set of characteristics. She has been a driving force in my life, especially in years past when I battled with depression and feeling like I was facing a brick wall trying to change myself. As I observed my strong, spirited yet vulnerable daughter, I realized how important it was that she have a strong mother -- she needed and deserved one -- and that motivated me to push on through. She continues to motivate me in words unspoken, and she's given both Mark and I delight and joy.

James is my kindred spirit, and yet very much his own person. Every mother says this, but I certainly have never seen a cuter child than my James as a little boy. He totally captured my heart; I adored him then and I adore him now. I wish for his sake that he was not so much like me, because I see him fighting many of the same battles I fought at his age, and I want to somehow sovereignly sweep in and rescue him from it all. But I know I need to let him walk that path with God, to "taste and see that He is good," to rejoice in His faithfulness. James is witty, insightful, and tenderhearted. He is one of my best friends - although I know parents are not really supposed to be "friends" with their children - I just enjoy hanging out with him. He is a treasure to me.

The Battle Line

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 16:04:05 GMT

"Then it happened when the Philistine rose and came and drew near to meet David, that David ran quickly toward the battle line to meet the Philistine." ~ I Sam. 17:48

No matter how many times I read or hear the story of David and Goliath, it always gets my blood pumping. I especially love the part where David shows up at the camp of the Israelite army, and finds out that the Philistines are daring the Israelites to a showdown with their champion fighter. When he is told that King Saul has offered a generous reward to the man that slays the giant (great riches, freedom from taxes and public service, plus the king's daughter as a bride), David almost seems incredulous as he confirms the information with man after man. It seems like he's saying, "So you all say this is really true -- this guy is taunting the armies of the living God, and whoever takes him on will be rich, tax-free, and married to the king's daughter...And you're just sitting here??"

David had spent his life in relationship with God, worshipping Him and observing His faithfulness ("The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion and from the paw of the bear, He will deliver me from the hand of the Philistine"). God's power and ability were "givens" to David, as well as the obvious abomination of someone openly mocking God and His people. The only thing David seemed to have a hard time understanding was why the other guys didn't "get it."

So he ran to the battle line. I like that he took five stones to use with his sling. Some people think the five stones represent different things, like the five-fold ministry (apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers). I just think it represents David's determination. He didn't have a brash bravado, like a homerun hitter pointing out his destination in the left-field bleachers. He just seemed to be saying, "Hey, I'm doing this if it takes one stone or five. I may not be perfect on my first shot, but this guy's going down."

I've been thinking about David as the date for my bone marrow transplant draws near. It's not a pleasant thought and I'm not excited about dealing with all the side effects, and yet I find my spirit ready to "run to the battle line" because I'm excited to see what God is going to do. Like David, I have seen God deliver me from "the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear." He has always been faithful to me, always taken care of me; He's healed places in my heart and mind that no one else could have touched, and caused my soul to flourish where it used to be just a dry, weed-filled desert.

The rewards of trusting Him are always great. So I'm packing my five or so stones (prayer, the Word, encouragement from others, vitamins, exercise...does hummus fit in there somewhere?) and heading out to the battle line. I know He will meet me there.

Things as They Are

Sat, 17 Jun 2006 17:40:24 GMT

"The first rule is to keep an untroubled spirit. The second is to look things in the face and know them for what they are." ~ Marcus Aurelius

Marcus Aurelius was a Roman emperor who wrote a series of meditations as a source for his own guidance and self-improvement. So he personally doesn't carry a lot of weight with me, but I like this statement. As a person who spent an extraordinary amount of time as a child and young adult daydreaming and deep in denial , I have learned the dangers and pitfalls of avoiding facts and truth. It's amazing how hard you can fall when you keep a brown paper bag over your head. ("I'm not really sick; we're not that deeply in debt; it's not my fault; God knows it's too hard for me to change.....")

As a Christian, I have learned the error of believing only facts and so-called truth. My recent experiences with leukemia have reinforced to me that yes, God wants us to face the truth -- but it's His truth we are to face. I can look at the facts, listen to the statistics, read the disclaimers and projected scenarios for my future - and I should. (Although I admit that, while listening to the Bone Marrow Transplant team relay information about the transplant, I am tempted to put fingers in both ears and hum loudly..."LALALA..I Can't Hear You!")

But I bring it all to God, lay it down, take two steps back and wait. I wait for His Word. I wait for His promises for my life. And I know, deep in my soul and spirit, that they are good. The statistics and medical disclaimers are of use to me primarily so that I can know what great miracles God has done and is going to do -- so that I can give glory to His name.

"And without becoming weak in faith (Abraham) contemplated his own body, now as good as dead since he was about a hundred years old, and the deadness of Sarah's womb; yet, with respect to the promise of God he did not waver in unbelief, but grew strong in faith, giving glory to God, and being fully assured that what He had promised, He was able also to perform." ~ Romans 4:19-21

Time for Life

Sat, 17 Jun 2006 01:25:36 GMT

Time seems to be going by much too fast. I received news earlier this week that they have found a matching bone marrow transplant donor for me. If all goes well (the donor still is agreeable to participating and clears all the tests), I will be scheduled for the transplant in mid-to-late July.

The transplant process (or my greatly simplified definition of it) will involve:
- The donor providing either stem cells from their blood, or about a quart of the liquid portion of their marrow...
- I will undergo several days of radiation treatments followed by chemotherapy to wipe out my red and white blood cells....
- Then I will receive the donor's stem cells or marrow...
- I will be in the hospital 2-4 weeks while my body accepts (and it will accept!) the new cells.
- I will continue to visit the hospital daily for about a month to be monitored and receive medications to prevent infection, rejection, etc. I may have to live in an apartment near the hospital during that time, since our home is about an hour away from the hospital and they want me to be close.
- I'll recover at home for another month or so. There is a 100-day critical recovery period (beginning when the transplant actually takes place) - I'll have to wear a hepa-filter mask, eat a special diet, etc. When the 100 days are over, I'll still be monitored but things should not be as intense.

What this means to me this week is:
- When I first heard the news I had a good deal of trepidation because the transplant is an intense process and carries a fair amount of risk. But as I drove home from the hospital that day, I felt God reassure me that He will be with me, that He will do something amazing in my life through this process, and that He will show His strength and power on my behalf. I know that He is faithful; I know that He will carry me through.
- So now I'm looking forward to getting it over with! Having the transplant means the beginning of the spark of light at the end of the tunnel. My life has been turned so upside-down this year, and although I truly am thankful for everything I have learned and am learning, it's good to know there's another bend in the road up ahead. I'm looking forward to getting back to a somewhat "normal" life, whatever that is, with the benefit of all I have learned from this process.
- I am now trying to figure out how to do everything I want/need to do during the next month before I go "out of commission" for several months. I will be in the hospital during my busiest time of the year at work. I want to organize and strategize to get things in place so that other people are able to pick up the slack for me with the minimum amount of confusion.
I also feel compelled to eat every good thing I can think of (the prospect of hospital food lurks like a dark shadow!) and to spend as much time with my family as I can. My beautiful daughter, Jessica, is home from UCLA and we have spent some serious time getting our "shopping duties" done, as well as doing extensive taste testing on a wide variety of Trader Joe's foods and chocolate cake. We are both having intense hummus cravings (I know...what???) -- I discovered that Trader Joe's hummus dip is incredible when scooped up with wedges of their spinach-cheese pizza. Jessica puts hummus on anything (as she also does with peanut butter and canned frosting -- we're trying to cure her of that, though).

My son James is always my great companion. He gladly takes me to the animated movies I want to see (you know you have a great kid when he - a 17 year-old guy with a 5-o'clock shadow - walks boldly with his mother through throngs of his peers in the theater lobby, so I can see "The Wild.") We share the same dry sense of humor and facial expressions, and the same cheerful attitude when woken up against our will (snarl).

He has also been able to explain to me baseball's infield-fly rule, which was one of life's great mysteries for me. We have a lot of movie-watching to do before the middle of July.

My husband Mark is with me every day...I hesitate to use the cliche "best friend," but that is what he is.
He keeps me steady, keeps my faith going, keeps me looking to the future while feeling at peace today. He's been taking as much time as he can from work to be with me at home and appointments, and he is the best medicine I could ask for.

One last family member I am trying to "squeeze" in extra time with - our tough and scrappy orange tabby cat, Buster. When we adopted him he was, shall we say, anti-social...but look what a few years of good lovin' have done to him. He's my stress reliever ("squeeze cat firmly ten times") and makes sure that my wardrobe is always beautifully coordinated in a lovely coating of orange fur.

It's going to be a busy month.

The Hospital

Thu, 08 Jun 2006 02:06:57 GMT

"The only ones among you who will be truly happy are those who have sought and found how to serve." - Albert Schweitzer

I just returned from an 8-day stay at Stanford Hospital. It was somewhat unexpected but I knew that, because of recent chemo treatment, I was susceptible to infection. And an infection is what I got - bacteria from something I ate or touched that took up residence in my bloodstream and resulted in several days of fever. I am home now with a temporary IV line so I can take a few more days worth of antibiotics; then I should be fine for awhile. Although I admit, I'm beginning to take on some obsessive-compulsive characteristics concerning what I touch, how often I wash my hands, etc. If you watch the TV show "Monk" (one of my favorites)...you'll get a general direction of where I'm headed. But hey, if that's what it takes to avoid these pesky infections, then antibacterial gel is my new best friend.

One of the good things about being at Stanford Hospital is knowing I'm receiving the best of care - and that is an unsolicited testimonial. (The only exception to this is the dreadful food - but that's another matter entirely.) The nursing staff that has taken care of me during each of my stays is the absolute best - they take away a lot of the stressful edge of being sick and hooked up to wires and tubes. I wish I had space here to put all of their pictures, but here are a few that I took during my last visit:

Lily (left) took care of me on one of my more stressful days this time around, and calmed me with her confident and cheerful spirit.

Mary (right) was one of my first nurses when I was first diagnosed with leukemia back in late January. She took a lot of time to explain the disease to me and help me understand the whirlwird of treatment and activity that was happening to me and around me. I felt like I had an advocate and a friend at a very confusing time, and that meant a lot to me.

Rosella is a Nurses' Assistant with a heart of gold. She, too, has been with me since I was first diagnosed. When Rosella's in the room, I relax because I know that she will take care of anything I need (and let me know if I'm doing anything wrong!). She fusses over me with motherly care, and both Mark and I think the world of her.

Theresa was my nurse for several days during this stay and was a true blessing to me. She helped me through some stressful moments with calmness and gentle cheerfulness. I never knew which nurse I would have each day, but when I saw that it was Theresa, I would quietly say, "yay!" because I knew everything would be okay.

Misty was also my nurse several times this visit and again, her cheerfulness and attention to detail left me completely at ease. She answered all my questions and helped prepare me for going home. Misty is a sweetheart!

I wish I could have gotten a picture of someone else as well -- a nurse named Bridget. I was too sick when she was taking care of me to take her picture, but she is a jewel. Bridget has frequently cared for me when I was in "bad place" - high fever, heavy nausea, lots of pain, etc. -- and her warmth and attention have made such a difference. She has a gift, like all of these nurses do, for taking the edge off of an unpleasant situation and setting my mind at ease.

During this last hospital stay, I thought a lot about how important the gift of serving is - what a critical difference it can make in another person's life. I'm so thankful that people like Lily, Mary, Rosella, Theresa, Misty, Bridget and all the others have made it a priority in their life to care for others. They have opened my eyes to the impact of a heart that seeks to serve, and I hope and pray I can become more like them.

The Garden

Mon, 22 May 2006 23:30:48 GMT

Seeing all the spring flowers in bloom reminds me of when I was a little girl, maybe 4 years old. We lived in a narrow house on a gravel lot on a brick-paved street in West Cleveland. One day I noticed that many of the other homes on our street had colorful flowers growing in their yards, while our house had none except dandelions. I thought the dandelions were pretty neat and loved to pick little stubby bouquets of them, but where were all these other flowers coming from? How did other people get them in their yard? I thought it must just be some random thing and if you were lucky, you got a house where flowers grew.

We obviously weren't so lucky but that didn't keep me from crouching in the gravel to burrow apple and watermelon seeds as far as I could into the hard-packed dirt. Topped off with a Dixie cup of water delivered from the kitchen sink, I was sure the seeds would soon grow into something beautiful and flowery. When they didn't, I figured it was just that yard thing. We just lived in the wrong yard.

Several years ago, God gave my family and me a miracle in the form of a house. My husband and two children and I had been renting for years. Our rental house was literally falling apart, having been built on filled-in muddy marshland that seemed to shift with every heavy California winter rain. When our landlord told us he wanted his house back, we had no idea where we would live, because the falling-apart house had been the only thing we could afford. As I said, God gave us a miracle, and within a few months we were moving into a beautiful yellow house - built on bedrock. With a garden full of flowers, front and back.

I studied that garden day after day, unsure at first what to do with it. I was used to living with gravel and mud - since they were obviously unsuitable for growing things, I never felt any expectation to try. I always lived in the inside of a house, leaving pretty outdoor things to people who had been blessed with flowers in the yard. And now that was us.

There's not enough time or space to tell how much God taught me as I worked in our garden. I learned about stewardship - a garden takes more care and attention than I ever dreamed. I learned about grace and providence - the best laid plans don't always work out like you thought. Expensive roses die, cheap ones thrive, yellow roses turn out to be pink and you realize you like them better that way, some plants grow way too big for their space and some just never take root at all.

I learned about cleaning away dead things, and why even beautiful plants need to be pruned to the point of embarrassing nakedness. I learned how weeds can look an awful lot like a respectable plant, and how sometimes you just have to let them grow until you know for sure.

When I was diagnosed with leukemia earlier this year, I was told I could not garden anymore because of the risk of the bacteria. So I watched my garden bloom from my kitchen window, chin in my hands as I studied each plant from afar. Thank God for perennials. I watched my garden unfold in beautiful shades of purple, white, yellow and pink - and I wasn't doing a thing. God let the landscape paint itself before me, and I realized again how precious His grace is. The best laid plans don't always work out like you thought. Yet somehow, He makes them work out right.