Marissa Henley

Encouraging weary women to hope in Christ alone

I Never Could Have Survived Cancer Without This One Thing

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Five years ago today, I first heard the words: “It’s cancer.” I was standing alone in my bedroom, but I wasn’t alone for long.

Within hours, a few family members and friends came over and joined me in my shock and grief. The next day – my 34th birthday – a larger group of friends gathered for a surprise birthday party full of prayers and tears. And over the coming months, a multitude of supporters came together with love, prayers and service that sustained us. The Lord used these people to demonstrate His daily care for us. I’m positive that I never could have survived cancer without this community.

In fact, I didn’t survive cancer. We survived cancer.

One of the most impactful stories of support during my illness occurred the week after my diagnosis. My husband tried to persuade me to seek a second opinion at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, but the logistical challenges overwhelmed me. I told him, “Maybe if we had a private jet, we could make that work. But I just can’t imagine how I could go to a doctor in another state when I can barely make it to a hair appointment across town.”

Within two hours of that statement, a family friend offered the use of their private plane for our initial appointments at MD Anderson.

That moment is not only an example of the generosity of our community. It was also the moment that I realized God was going to meet each and every one of our needs, just as He had promised. He used an army of friends, family, acquaintances, and even strangers to provide tangible, emotional, and spiritual support as we battled for my health and for my life.

Most of you don’t have a private plane that you could loan me. But you gave what you could – a meal, a prayer, a card in the mail, a ride for my kids – and God weaved your thread of support along with thousands of others into a beautiful tapestry that provided for all our needs. I know it’s cliche, but it’s so true: we couldn’t have done it without you.

At the risk of leaving someone out, I want to describe all that was done for us during those months. As I celebrate five years of surviving angiosarcoma, I can’t think of a better way to mark this day than to acknowledge all of you who loved us through my illness.

I hope you’re comfortable, because if this were the Oscars, they’d never get me off the stage. We were well-loved, as you’re about to see. And I hope it will inspire you to love someone who is hurting in a way you might not have thought of before.

Our family and friends provided endless support. My husband, parents and in-laws made constant sacrifices to care for me and the kids. Lynette kept my kids often, drove them to school and piano lessons, and took care of countless details I was only vaguely aware of. Becky drove my kids to school and spent hours on the phone with me when I was lonely in Houston. The two of them also did my grocery shopping. Rachel organized a “Scripture shower,” asking others to send me notecards with Scripture and other encouragement. Staci, Anna, Marilyn and other friends called and texted me often to encourage me.

Allyson coordinated several months of meals and decorated our home for Christmas. Jenny cleaned our house regularly. Callie faithfully showed up every Tuesday morning to take Will to preschool. Alison made gingerbread houses with my kids at Christmas. Ginny and Alyse were our go-to babysitters, and an anonymous friend paid Ginny whenever she was at our house. (I know who you are, Anonymous Friend!)

Then I started spending two out of every three weeks in Houston. Penny left a stable job with benefits to take a leap of faith as our nanny. She loved our children well during a painful time for our family. During my first stay in Houston, Sara picked me up at the airport and helped me find housing. On my second stay, I met Greg and Blair, and I’ll never forget the day Blair asked if I would stay with them from then on. We both cried a little as I agreed – I was already starting to think of her as my “Houston Mom.” She treated me like a daughter, housed me and my friends, fed me, listened to me, and even picked me up from the airport in the middle of the night when my flight was delayed.

Jennifer and Catherine – who were each a friend of a friend – took the time to befriend a cancer patient and made me feel like I had friends in Houston. Becca left infant twins at home and drove hours to spend time with me in Houston. Friends flew in when I needed assistance during chemo – Marilyn, Amanda, Jenny, Melissa, Andrea and Tara each spent a week away from their jobs and families to care for me at my worst.

Our church family and my parents’ church family rallied around us with enormous amounts of food. Friends brought us dinner three nights a week for about seven months. Some friends even asked for a copy of my kids’ favorite recipes and prepared a family favorite. A group of Noel’s colleagues had pizza delivered to our home every Tuesday – our kids loved that! Our Providence Academy family provided freezer meals immediately following my diagnosis.

We received donations of cash and airline miles. Friends sent me treasured, thoughtful gifts. Several people made hats, including a pink knitted cap I wore every night. Nicole and Sarah fixed Sarah Kate’s hair on Sunday mornings when my husband dropped her off at Sunday school with a brush and bow in hand. Carol ironed our clothes. Friends visited me at chemo and during blood transfusions. My memory is a little fuzzy, but I remember visits from my mom, sister, mother-in-law, Crystal, Lynette, Evelyn, Laureen, Jamie, Eva and Jan. The “Henley’s Homies” participated in the Race for the Cure in my honor. The Mothers of Providence spent time on their knees praying for me.

My medical team was superb. Dr. Pope and Dr. Emily Hinton made a quick diagnosis that probably saved my life. Dr. Ravi and his staff at MD Anderson gave us hope of a medical cure. Dr. Vadhan and her attentive research nurses cared for me during the clinical trial. Dr. Rosenfeld, his fabulous nurse, Aimee, and the nursing staffs at Highlands Oncology and the infusion center all cared for me back home in Fayetteville. Dr. Hunt successfully removed the tumor after a team of compassionate radiation techs zapped the life out of it. Years later, Dr. Atwood put me back together again with reconstructive surgery.

In the years following treatment, friends continued to provide support. The Cancer Posse is an amazing source of encouragement and friendship. Mary Grace showed up just when I needed her. Carrie gives wise, compassionate counsel as I process the impact of cancer survivorship.

I wish I could list the names of everyone who brought us food, wrote a guestbook message online, commented on Facebook, emailed, texted, called or sent a card. I’ll never even know all those who prayed for me and put my name on church prayer lists.

Each and every one of you are a significant and meaningful part of my story. Together we are five-year survivors!

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On Writing a Book and Why I’m Terrified

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The other day, I was talking to a friend about my kids’ piano lessons. Every Friday, I drop them off at their teacher’s house for almost two hours. My friend asked, “What do you do while they’re there?” I think my answer surprised her:

 

“I’m writing a book.”

 

It’s true. With an hour here and a couple hours there, at Mama Carmen’s coffee shop and the new Starbucks near my house, I have written almost an entire book on how to be a friend to someone with cancer.

 

For the first several weeks of focused writing, I wouldn’t refer to it as a book. I knew I was writing a book – the goal was a book, not just pages – but I had a hard time admitting it to others.

 

My bestie would ask, “What did you do today?”

 

And I’d say, “I wrote some more pages for that thing that could be a book someday!”

 

And she’d reply, “YOU’RE WRITING A BOOK. JUST SAY YOU WORKED ON YOUR BOOK!”

 

But the truth is, I don’t want to say that I’m writing a book. Because writing a book is possibly one of the top three most terrifying things I’ve ever done.

 

(Having chemo that required countless injections, a clinical trial, and blood transfusions every time I turned around was the most terrifying. Giving birth to my first child was a close second. I would stare at my huge tummy and think, “How in the world is that thing gonna get out of there?!? And what will I DO with it when it does?!?!?”)

 

It might sound silly that writing a book makes the list of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done, right up there with pumping poison into my body and becoming a mother for the first time.

 

The reason I’m terrified is that I am an Approval Addict. I want people to think highly of me, and I can’t stand it when they don’t. The things that upset me the most are: 1. death, 2. cancer, and 3. someone not liking me. I’m so ridiculous.

 

And in the arena of earning others’ approval, lots of things could go wrong with this book.

 

– My friends could be disappointed to find out this isn’t the book they were hoping I’d write.

 

– My friends could love it, but when people who know about publishing books (by the way, anyone know any of those people?!?) read it, they could say it’s worthless.

 

– It might not sell.

 

– It might get bad reviews.

 

– People might look at me and see failure.

 

– People might look at me and think I must be a snob who thinks she’s really something because she wrote a book.

 

– People might expect me to be the Best Friend Ever to someone with cancer because I wrote a book about it, when the truth is that I fail my friends with cancer on a regular basis.

 

And yet, I know that God has called me to write this book and pursue getting it published – but not so that I can earn the approval of men. He wants me to write to serve His people and for His glory.

 

The only way I can do this is to rest in the truth that in Christ, I am fully approved by God. I am loved by God with an unquenchable, never-ending love – not because of anything I have done, but only because of what Christ has done. When I stand in that amazing love, I can be free to write a book and take this risk with my eyes on His glory, not my own. I want to get out of the way and make much of Him.

 

Would you pray for me?

 

Pray for the courage to finish the book and take the next steps. (I know how to write. But I have no idea how to get a book published. So this is getting scarier and scarier.)

 

Pray that God would use what I’ve written to minister to His people for His glory.

 

Pray that I would rest in His love for me, free from the chains of others’ approval and bold in what God asks me to do.

 

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Three Short Sentences to Say to a Friend With Cancer

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Imagine you are walking down the road one day, and you see a friend at the bottom of a large, dark, unescapable pit. How would you respond? What would you say or do?

 

You could shout down something encouraging, like “God has a good plan for your life!” and go along your merry way.  (And your friend would probably wish they could get out of the pit just so they could punch you in the face.)

 

You could throw yourself into the pit and curse God for putting both of you there. You could commiserate about how terrible the pit is and wonder what in the world God was thinking when He put this pit in your friend’s way. (Your friend wouldn’t be alone, but she wouldn’t feel encouraged.)

 

Or you could jump down into the pit with her and hold her hand and pray with her. While acknowledging how difficult and sad and scary the pit is, you could gently remind her that the truth about God is just as true at the bottom of the pit as it is at the top. As you weep with her in the pit, together you could call to mind God’s past faithfulness and promise to redeem your life from the pit and crown you with steadfast love and mercy (Psalm 103:4).

 

This is how I think about encouraging a friend who is going through cancer or any other crisis.  Your friend is in a large, dark, unescapable pit. How can you love your friend when she’s in there?

 

There is the “God is good” approach.  There is the “this sucks” approach.  And there is my favorite:  the “this sucks – God is good – I love you” approach.  This is what I try to communicate to my friends.

 

1.  This sucks.  

My parents taught me not to use that word. Sorry, Mom, but “cancer stinks” just doesn’t cut it. Your friend needs you to acknowledge the reality of her situation: her life has just been turned upside-down and forever changed by the diagnosis of a life-threatening disease. If you fail to recognize this reality, you will lose credibility as a safe friend who understands what she is going through.

 

2.  God is good. 

After you’ve cried together at the bottom of the pit for awhile, gently remind your friend that God’s promises are still true. God’s Word is the anchor your friend must cling to while the storm rages around her. Speak the truth to her.  Pray the truth with her. Write the truth on notecards for her, write it on her bathroom mirror, text her Scriptures – whatever you can do to constantly keep God’s promises in her mind. She is battling cancer, but she is also battling fear and despair. She is walking through a time of grief.  Those difficult emotions will be pushing the truth out of her mind, and you can help push it back in. Remind her of God’s goodness, faithfulness, power, love, provision and peace!

 

Some of my favorite verses to share with friends include: 2 Chronicles 20:12, 15; Psalm 27:1-2; Psalm 34:18; Psalm 42:1-2, 5; Psalm 46:1-2, 10-11; Psalm 56:8-11; Psalm 62:1-2; Psalm 73:25-26, Psalm 103:1-5, Psalm 112:7-8; Psalm 121:1-2; Isaiah 26:3-4; Isaiah 41:10; Isaiah 43:1-2; Jeremiah 31:3; Lamentations 3:22-23; Nahum 1:7; Habakkuk 3:17-19; Zephaniah 3:17; Luke 12:7; John 14:27; John 16:33; Romans 8:37-39; Romans 15:13; 2 Corinthians 12:9-10; Philippians 4:6-7, 13, 19; I John 4:4; Revelation 21:1-5.

 

3.  I love you. 

When I was diagnosed with cancer, one thing I found strange was that everyone started telling me they loved me. Not just family and close friends – people I never would have expected to say those words were suddenly saying “I love you.” At first, it felt a little weird. Was I supposed to say “I love you, too”? Just say thanks? Were they saying it because they thought I was about to die?

 

But once I got used to it, I found that it was very comforting and encouraging to hear how many people loved me. I felt loved. And when you are facing something difficult, it is great to feel loved! 

 

You may or may not feel comfortable saying the words “I love you” to your friend. But you can communicate your love by letting her know you’re thinking of her often and praying for her. You can tell her you care about her and are in this fight with her. You can show your love by visiting her and serving her. All of these demonstrations of love will communicate to your friend that you care about her and what she’s going through.  She will feel loved!

 

Note:  I’d like to credit an episode of The West Wing for inspiring my analogy about a friend in a pit (Season Two, “Noel”). I love that show! 

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Five Years of Desperate Prayers Answered on One Tuesday Morning

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On October 25, 2010, I was about to leave for my oldest child’s 1st grade parent-teacher conference when my phone rang.

It was THE call from the radiologist who had performed the biopsy the week before. I was expecting to hear that it was either breast cancer or not breast cancer, but instead he was talking about a rare cancer that I had never heard of called angiosarcoma. I had to ask him to spell it as I wrote it down and stared at the strange new word.

Stunned, I said to him, “I’m not sure if you’re telling me I have one year or five years or what.” His answer was not reassuring:  “We just don’t know yet.”

What does anyone do when they’ve just been diagnosed with a cancer they’ve never heard of?  I Googled it, of course. And one of the first things I read was that only 30% of those diagnosed with angiosarcoma live five years past the diagnosis. I slammed the laptop shut and burst into tears.

Then my confused brain struggled to do some mental math and fast-forward five years. All I could think was that in five years my 18-month-old daughter would be just 6 years old – first grade. That there was a 70% chance that my baby girl wouldn’t have me with her when she walked into her first day of first grade.

First grade become my earnest plea to the Lord. I spent many weepy nights begging Him for more years with all three of my children. But for my baby, I wanted time for her remember me. In my mind, walking her into 1st grade would mean not only that I survived angiosarcoma for 5 years. It would mean having five years of making memories with my children and being part of their childhood.

As the years passed and it looked more likely that I would survive five years, my prayers became bolder. Now I look past first grade and ask for the privilege of parenting teenagers, seeing them graduate, attending their weddings, holding their babies. I continue to plead for more time and for the faith to trust the Lord with our future. But I don’t want to let this answered prayer pass by unnoticed . . .

On Tuesday, I will hold my daughter’s hand as she walks into her first day of first grade.

Praise the Lord! To Him alone be the glory!

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