Dear readers, Below is a collection of emails I’ve sent to friends regarding my second, and terminal, cancer diagnosis. I’ve edited out the more personal information so that these updates can be passed along freely. My prayer is that the beauty of Jesus shines brightly into many hearts out of our family’s present darkness. He is better than life itself— Colleen May 12, 2021Hello, dear friends!Just four months ago, we had no idea we’d be moving out of state—nor that we’d be facing a second cancer diagnosis. So much has changed in such a short time, yet as John Snyder so beautifully puts it, God remains our unaltered environment.For those of you who appreciate the cliff notes version, here it is—On April 28, five days after moving into our new house, we got the results of my biopsy: cancer in the lymph nodes. We immediately looked into two reputable cancer institutes here and chose to transfer my care from City of Hope in Southern California to an esteemed medical center in the heart of our capital city—and just 25 minutes from our new home. What a gift to be so close to my care this time around!Within the next week or two we should know more conclusively what stage the cancer is (how far it’s spread in my body) and what my treatment plan looks like. At this point it seems likely we’ll begin with chemo—so I’m enjoying my hair and eyelashes and eyebrows more than you can imagine.For those of you who like the unabridged version, read on.Yes, it’s crazy to be back here. To hear the words “it’s cancer” again. To know in gritty detail what all this means. The first several days after diagnosis were dark and full of tears. I wept because my body is not a healthy and strong body, and much physical suffering is ahead. I wept even more because I could not bear the grief of what this means for my dear husband. But I wept the most—out of deep and unspeakable places of my soul—because I’m a mom of a 9-year-old boy and there are no words for what goes on in a mama’s heart when faced with her mortality.The first night of my diagnosis, my son laid in bed next to me and wept, “I don’t want you to die, Mom.” And “Why did God let you get cancer a second time?”And this might sound strange, but those are sacred parenting moments. Moments so painful yet so utterly precious, you can almost feel God’s breath on you as you gently walk your child through grief to hope, reminding him of what you so desperately need to remember yourself: this life is just a blink, whether you die at 20 or 95, and none of us is promised tomorrow. Today is a gift, and if God fills it with suffering, it’s because he loves us too much to let us waste our lives on pathetic little earth-pleasures. He wants to give us breathtaking treasure that lasts forever—and suffering is often the means by which he gives it.After those first few weeping days and nights, I’ve experienced a peace and joy and calm-down-to-my-bones that just doesn’t make sense on a human level. God is with me, he is with my husband, he is with my son and—as I told one of my doctors—that is our hope.“I sought the Lord, and he answered me and rescued me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant with joy; their faces will never be ashamed.” Psalm 34:4-5Thank you for standing with us and praying for us. I’ll keep you updated as we know more. We love you so so much, friends–Colleen (for Eddie too) May 29, 2021Friends, thank you so much for your outpouring of love these past few weeks! We have felt so cared for—not only by you long-time friends but also by our new friends and neighbors here in Idaho. We are so grateful. I’m behind in responding to your messages, but please know how much your words mean to this words-of-encouragement girl. I feel strengthened for the journey through you!Okay, for you cliff-notes folks:On May 14th I met with my new medical oncologist. She is incredibly knowledgeable and compassionate, and she listened with concern when I described what the last 12-week chemo cocktail did to me. Because my cancer is classified as “advanced” (as it is a recurrence), she hopes to get me approved for a stage-4 clinical trial that hopefully will behave less like a wicked stepmother and more like an annoying coworker. Ha!Like last time, insurance issues have pushed back our timeline by a couple of weeks, but my doctor is expediting everything she can on her end so that we don’t waste time in beginning treatment. While I won’t have my first test results till this Wednesday, we do already know that my treatment plan will begin with chemo, followed by surgery then radiation. (We still won’t know what stage the cancer is, how widespread it is, till the third or fourth week of June. They are scanning EVERYTHING. I mean, we will know if the cancer is in my left pinky toenail, okay?)Now for those of you who can hang with the verbose version….The first time around we were shocked to discover that cancer is a full-time job—and that the normal stresses of life don’t sit on the bench just because cancer is playing first string. To look into the future even two weeks can feel completely overwhelming. So I’m working at staying present and grateful in the moment: I remind myself to stop and feel the cool breeze on my skin, quietly soak in the sight of E and J, or enjoy the taste of my hot black (albeit, decaf) coffee. I’ll admit, some days it’s arduous work for me to look for and appreciate the good things. But regardless of how I feel at any given moment, the truth is, each day is