Thousands of us have found comfort and hope through Kara Tippetts’s story of family, cancer, and grace. Here Kara offers gentle reflections on living and dying well, sharing what she learned through both suffering and joy.
Kara Tippetts and David C Cook
Day 1
Scriptures: Ecclesiastes 4:9-10, John 15:12-13
Grace Dress
A week ago my dear friend Bill Petro helped me get my new blog up and running. I have since been wondering what my first post would be. All the details of my cancer (well, most of them) have been made public. I have decided to share one particular moment when grace really showed up for me in a meaningful way.
I was undone one day last week by an article that indicated my life expectancy. The article itself was sent in love, but all my simple mind could see was the statistical data for how long I would live. Up until that point, Jason and I had been broken and crying, but so full of peace. That evening I would not sleep, I was sick, and I continually added the number listed to each of my children, and I lost my peace.
Grace showed up the next day in a big, big way. When I woke up, I was in bad shape. I asked my neighbor if she could take Lake for the day, and then a friend called to see if she could bring me dinner. I asked her if she was willing to prepare it at my house and watch Story Jane. She said yes and came right over. I then called a woman I knew who had walked the road I was on. She came at 1 p.m. to take me for a walk. She offered joy in the midst of my pain, and hope for a beautiful story all my own. I felt my peace being restored throughout that time.
I came home exhausted and asked my dear I’m-cooking-you-dinner friend if she minded if I took a nap. She scooted me upstairs and off to bed. I woke up a little later and realized Jen Lints was coming to take our last family pictures where I would have hair. I came downstairs bleary-eyed and wondered aloud what our gang was going to wear for the pictures. My cooking-dinner friend said, “You said you liked my dress, right?” She then walked out to her car to get some extra clothes, came back in, and literally took the dress off her back and gave it to me. That’s right. I really have those kinds of friends, friends who will take my children, clean my house, cook my dinner, take our family’s picture, take me on encouraging walks, and give me the shirt (or dress) right off their back.
I call that dress my grace dress. I literally wore it for three days in a row after my dear friend gave it to me. I wear it to anything that feels hard. I will be wearing it to my first chemo treatment. Yesterday I cut off all my hair so it won’t be as hard for my kids when I lose it. I wore my grace dress. After my haircut I decided to sleep in it. Cutting my hair was not really the hard part. I’ve had short hair many times in my life. It was why I had to cut it. After cutting it short, my next step will be cutting it bald. Grace will have to show up that day like a comfy gray cotton dress. And I believe it will.
Thank you to all of you who are walking with me, whether up close or from a distance. I feel so very loved. Our family has been embraced, prayed for, and miraculous peace has shown up in very real ways. I know I am not facing cancer alone. I know it.
Day 2
Scriptures: Psalms 16:1, Psalms 16:11, Matthew 6:25-34
The Cost of the Cure
You’re sitting in your backyard one afternoon and suddenly you start losing your hair, one handful at a time. There’s nothing that can prepare you for that moment. But there we were, Story Jane and me, pulling out handfuls of my hair. I thought of Sarah, Plain and Tall giving the hair from a haircut to the fields for the birds to build nests. I would love to see nests of hair like mine. No, actually I wouldn’t. I would rather keep my hair.
It is both weird and creepy to have your hair come out in handfuls. It is as though my hair has just quit on me. On the bright side, my breast cancer lump is getting noticeably smaller. So I stomach the bad with the good. All vanity aside, I want to live. And if losing my hair means I can be present for another snuggle, another spelling test, another packed lunch, another load of laundry, another prayer, another shared coffee with Jason, another bike ride, another morning worship, another giggle over a body function, another chance to cry, another meal with friends on the back porch, another camping trip and another moment praising my Savior, then so be it. This loss of hair is worth another tomorrow. I trust that Jesus knows exactly how many more tomorrows I have. He knows exactly every hair that’s coming out by the handful today.
So the next time you see me, I may be sporting a hat or a wig, maybe even a scarf. Whatever reality soon finds me, I pray it finds me in perfect peace with the One who holds my yesterday, today, and tomorrows.
Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge…
You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore. (Ps. 16:1, 11)
Day 3
Scriptures: John 16:33, Romans 8:37-39
Big Day
Kids are so honest. Yesterday was a big day for me. My first day in public sporting my new Sinead O’Connor look, my first day wig shopping, and the first time one of my kids asked if I was going to die. I’d call that big, wouldn’t you?
I walked in from wig shopping and Harper Joy asked me if I was going to die. I looked at her and said, “Yes.” Then I invited her upstairs with me as I put on comfy clothes. Big conversations require an elastic waist. We jumped on my bed for an honest conversation. I first wanted to know why she asked me that question. She said she was swinging on the playground and a friend said to her, “I sure hope your mom doesn’t die.” Up until that moment, I don’t think she’d considered it. Up until that moment, she had only enjoyed the fruits of cancer: lots of people and lots of love.
This was a special moment for Harper and me. I spoke honestly that I would die, that she would die, that death is a reality for us all. I asked if she knew where I would go when I die. She said, “Mommy, you will go to be with Jesus in heaven.” I asked her if I did anything to deserve that and she said, “No.” I told her how Jesus in His goodness placed His love on me, and that Christ paid it all for me and for her. We talked about cancer being very scary. I told her the doctor has a good plan, but only God knows how long I will live. I told her it was okay to be sad. Then my sweet Harper Joy cried. And so did I.
I wish I could take away the fears of this sweet, tender-hearted little girl. But I can’t. I encouraged her to talk to the One who cares for her every breath. Even though it hurts to watch your children suffer, I know He has plans for her good through this suffering. There are a lot of hard parts to this, but that is probably the hardest. The kids are trying to be positive and brace, but every day I look less and less of what they’ve known me to be. So we’re all doing the best we can, trusting that Scripture means what it says, that God’s grace is sufficient. That God’s grace is enough.
Day 4
Scriptures: Colossians 3:12-13, 1 Peter 3:8
What Matters
With only two or maybe three brain cells that want to function, it was probably not wise for me to hide the Christmas presents. I keep thinking I need to find them all and remind myself what I purchased. Before my last chemo, I tried to get a lot done. This year has been so hard, I really wanted Christmas to not be a bummer. I’m not sure what I have or what I’ve hidden it. With four kids, I have secret fears of one having lots to open while another only has a few. Ugh.
One of the things we’ve learned this crazy year, it to enjoy the moments. The thing about suffering is it makes the sweet moments so much sweeter. I know people who only want to sign up for the party, only want to hear the good news. That simply has not been reality, or our reality anyway. The joy in the mundane feels so much more real when sadness has been walked through and tasted.
One evening one of the kids came in our room because of a nightmare. Our practice in such moments is to scoot over, snuggle, and pray with our child. Once he or she has fallen back asleep, Jason transfers them back to their bed. Of course sometimes we all just fall sound asleep and wake up with someone’s foot in our face. But on this particular night I was sick and awake, trying to pass the time on Pinterest or TasteSpotting. All at once she began to rub my neck and my head. My first instinct was to tell her to stop and go back to sleep. But as I lay there, I realized a new compassion and love that had grown in her through our difficult year. Even with all the hardships, our children had grown in hospitality and love. They had learned to welcome and love strangers. They had learned flexibility. And they had grown in grace.
I think even if the scales of Christmas morning come out a little unbalanced because of their flighty mom, maybe our kids will have some sense of what suffering has taught us this year. Maybe we’ll all be a little more acquainted with kindness in our daily struggles. Maybe that’s what really matters. Maybe that’s the best gift, the one we really need.