In my dad’s church, the adults had small groups called koinonia group. You know, good ‘ole Christian fellowship. As a kid, I hated these groups. Koinonia group at our house meant cleaning till the cows came home and I wanted no part in that. Nobody is going to judge how clean our baseboards were or show shiny the antique copper bed warmers were that we used as decorations. But it was a full house cleaning assault. My mom wasn’t a hoarder per-say but she would gain multiple stacks of papers. Lots of papers and lots of stacks. Clutter everywhere. I could not tell you what were in these stacks. Maybe some school artwork or tests grades or other grades. Maybe some bills or nutritional pamphlets. But these stacks would end up on our dining room table and when people came over, we had to figure out where to put all the piled up papers. Eventually, my dad would get a box and put the randomness in there and take it to the basement to die, I mean, store. As kids, we would scrub the house to invite company over to be relegated to my parent’s room upstairs. Lose-lose. So we would create our fun. Apparently, jumping on my parent’s bed which was directly above the dining room table was not a good choice. Something about shaking the light above the table is distracting. My mom would come up stairs and hiss-yell at us to knock it off. We (more than likely it was just me and my younger sister jumping. My older two sisters were much wiser than me) would immediately stop jumping and sit on the bed, backs completely straight. One time when the group was downstairs, I was drying my hair and wondered how hot the hairdryer was. It was hot to the touch. So I put the hairdryer down on my parents bed blankets. To my horror, it burned a hole through the 2 blankets and sheet. Panicking, I covered the burnt holes with the comforter and continued to dry my hair. I was going to get in so much trouble. Thankfully, I burned the holes on my Dad’s side and he didn’t notice right away (thanks, Dad!). Mom chalked up the burning smell to me burning my hair. Not sure what that tells you about my abilities to do my hair but I escaped a red butt that day! Phew! When the koinonia group left, I would run downstairs to see if there was any leftover dessert. Praise Jesus but leave me a square of brownie. Sometimes I would get lucky, other times I’d be told the brownies weren’t for me anyway. Code for there were none left. 

I always thought koinonia was such a funny word. Probably because I’m fairly positive I failed phonics in the second grade. Jury is out but I was not known for my book smarts. But even now, that word resonates with me. Community. Fellowship. A friend asked me the other day if I felt God’s goodness in my cancer journey. I laughed and immediately wanted to say an emphatic hell no. God’s goodness in cancer? The pain, the fatigue, the awful side effects, the complete upheaval of my life, and my families? God’s goodness? And while I wanted to say no, I couldn’t because of the people surrounding us. I feel God’s goodness in the continued support from those around us: the meals, the snail mail cards, the hugs, the space for letting me cry, the texts just checking in, the prayers and the encouragement that this part of the journey is almost done. To me, that is God’s goodness. I would love to experience God’s goodness in a different way, an easier way, but that is not my journey. And as we plod forward, I cannot express my gratitude enough to those who continue to show us what it means to be in koinonia with one another. 

You guys, we have ONE more treatment to go! I cry just thinking about that (I also cry after almost every workout. So there’s that). Treatment 8 was hard just like 7. The symptoms are building and recovery is taking longer. For example, taking a bowl of watermelon out of the refrigerator now requires oven mitts because my neuropathy in my fingers is so bad. Silver lining, I am glad to be having warm weather months for my chemo. I expect to meet with my oncologist at my last treatment to hopefully get a timetable for moving forward with scans, scopes and what not. MRI and CT scans and a potential scope will determine next steps as we will meet with the surgeon for part three of this plan. I am trying to be optimistic about the next steps but the unknown has me a bit anxious. So, as always, one day at a time. Treatment eight is done. Yay! 

Liz