Guest Blog

Guest Post: A Lash of Hope

Cancer. Oh, that this word would become no more earth-shattering than hearing “chicken-pox” or “measles”.

A single eyelash has never held so much significance before.

Our foster baby was losing all his hair as a side-effect to the chemotherapy he was receiving but this one remaining eyelash stuck tight.
For weeks and weeks that have turned into months, we’ve done everything possible to ease the suffering of our little guy.

If only I could take his place.
If only I could give him his daily injections without pain.
If only I could reduce the anxiety that comes as soon as he sees a nurse or doctor.
If only Adam and Eve had never turned their backs on God the Father, there in that perfect garden…

One single eyelash that refused to give up.

It has since fallen out, but with only two more cycles of treatment (we hope) there will soon be fresh ones to take it’s place.
Life will be sweeter again. Normal again.
But little things will still symbolize eternal meaning.

Hope; in an eyelash.
Love; in a touch.
Joy; in a smile.
Peace; in a baby’s sleepy breathing.
Faith; in the rising of each day’s sun.

God who rules Heaven sees each eyelash that falls.
And He knows the significance of little things.
And He cares.

Mary Margaret Gascho describes herself as “an ordinary, unremarkable woman whose broken heart was breathed back into existence by the extraordinary, incredible love of a relentless, passionate God.” She’s raised 5 kids as well as more than 2 dozen foster babies/toddlers, and has graciously allowed me to republish this piece from her archives.

You can find her at Mary Margaret Photography or at her online stock-photography business.

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Poetry & Words

therefore we will not fear. there’s nothing left to fear.

last night, in the wee smalls of  the dusky hours before morning, i woke up suddenly out of the blue. for once, it wasn’t because aveline was awake. she was silently and peacefully asleep, her gentle breathing a comforting rhythm, her tiny body beautiful against the periwinkle crib sheet. but i was gently awakened in the silent night. awake and alone,  i picked up my phone and it was then i realized why i had been pulled out of sleep. so there i was, in those wee smalls between a sleeping husband and a sleeping baby, texting my dear friend shanley. she was driving all night just to get home. she’d received that call. you know the one. the one where they say, please come home. this is it. Continue reading “therefore we will not fear. there’s nothing left to fear.”