A Good Report & Grateful Hearts

We had our follow-up appointment yesterday, and we are so thankful to share that it went well.

According to the doctor, the scans look good and the treatment worked the way he had hoped. Hearing those words brought such relief. We are incredibly grateful for how his body has responded.

There is a small area of metabolic activity that the doctor wants to continue monitoring. At this point, it could simply be inflammation from treatment — which is very common — or it could represent remaining cancer cells. To be cautious and thorough, he will have another CT scan in three months so they can take a closer look and see how things are progressing.

For now, the overall report is positive.

We are in a waiting and healing season. His body still needs time to recover from everything it has been through. Over the next couple of months, we’ll continue to focus on healing and see what next steps may be for his throat if eating is still a challenge.

We have felt so surrounded in this season. Many of you have walked closely beside us, and at times, you have truly carried us. We believe God has used your love and prayers to hold us steady, and we are so grateful.

We are holding onto peace and grateful for His steady, faithful presence.

It’s been a while since I’ve written an update here. Not because we’ve disappeared, but because, in many ways, not much has changed, and yet everything feels changed all at once.

Chris is still on the G-tube, getting all of his nutrition that way. Gaining weight has been hard. Swallowing is still incredibly limited, just a couple of sips a day. I gently (sometimes persistently) try to encourage one small thing a day, an applesauce pouch, a mini bottle of water, jello, yogurt. He doesn’t love me hovering in that space, and I’m learning when to push and when to back off. That balance is still a work in progress.

As I’m writing this, we’re sitting in the imaging center waiting for his PET scan, the one that will tell us how well treatment worked. Waiting rooms have become familiar places, heavy with both hope and nerves.

There has been progress. His pain has lessened, and he’s been able to manage it with liquid lidocaine, humidifiers, nasal flushes, and adding extra water to his feedings. That has felt like a small but real praise. But as the pain started to fade, swelling in his neck increased, making swallowing harder again and introducing a new layer of discomfort. It’s like one thing eases and another rises up in its place.

This season has been one of waiting. Stretching. Growing. Patiently longing for something, anything, to start feeling normal again.

Eating is still something Kate and I navigate carefully. Chris wants to eat all the things now… and can’t. That’s hard. I won’t sugarcoat it. Meals are grabbed between work and home. Snacks turn into dinners. We skip meals more often than not just to avoid food smells around him. It’s not ideal, but it’s where we are.

The good news is that Chris is back to work and school, and it’s been a welcome brain distraction. Getting out of the house has actually invigorated him rather than drained him, which has been encouraging to see. Chemo brain fog is real. Processing takes longer, memory is slower, but he’s adapting, using reminders and alerts on his phone, figuring out new rhythms.

Can I tell you what has surprised me the most through all of this?

He hasn’t complained. Not once.
No pity parties.
No “why me?”

He has been steady. Positive. Quietly strong. And I am in absolute awe of him.

Our days together move at a slower pace now, and honestly… I kind of love it. Our living room gets more use, resting, talking, doing puzzles, watching movies. Life has narrowed in some ways, but it’s also deepened.

As we wait for results, we’re waiting with hope and steadiness. Whatever comes back, we’re ready to walk forward in faith. I hesitated to update because it felt like there wasn’t much “new” to share, but I know many of you have been asking how we are.

So here it is:
We’re still here.
Still putting one foot in front of the other.
Day by day
Still recovering.
Still waiting for healing.
Sill in the midst of it all.
Still trusting in God with what we can't see yet.

Ready for whatever this next season holds.
Only God knows, and that’s enough for now. 

Meaningful Over Magical

For so many years, Chris and I did everything we could to make Christmas magical for our kids and our family.

This year looked different.

With a 15-year-old and a 21-year-old, and with Chris in the middle of a very rough cancer recovery while we wait for his PET scan in February to tell us if treatment worked, I found myself letting go of magical moments and choosing meaningful ones instead.

Eventually, my mom came over to help Kate and me decorate the house. A sweet friend even offered to decorate for us, and while that kindness meant so much, it wasn’t really about having the decorations up. It was about the process.

It was opening the Christmas bins together and pulling out the decorations that have lived in the same places since the kids were little. Talking about why we still keep the craft ornaments they made when they were three. Hanging the Christmas spider on the tree. Remembering the stories attached to each piece.

So we blasted Christmas music, poured eggnog, and decorated together—just the three of us. It felt like a full-circle moment, especially because so many of our decorations came from my mom and my own childhood. It wqs so special having her come decorate with us, it may just become a new tradition.

Not everything went up. Our tree wasn’t even decorated until Christmas Eve, when Connor took it upon himself to do it. (Gotta love him.)

This month was slower. Simpler. And filled with intentional moments. We thanked God daily for one more December with all of us under one roof.

We didn’t drive around Thoroughbred looking at lights. We didn’t bake a single cookie. We didn’t do long Christmas shopping trips. We didn’t go to a single holiday party. We didn’t have our normal countdown Advent calendar. We still haven’t eaten a full meal around the table together.

But the couch has become our new gathering place.

Fireplace on. Blankets piled high. Long conversations. Movie nights. Quiet togetherness.

More meaningful moments than magical ones, and I have loved all of it.

As we head into the new year, we’re planning to look back at the hard parts of 2025, writing them down, praying over 2026, and then burning those pages in a small fire pit. We’re stepping into the new year with hope, gratitude, and love.

I am deeply grateful for the friends who continue to check in. For the doorstep drop-offs. The texts saying they’re still praying for us. The questions asking what we still need. The dinners that have shown up just when we didn’t have it in us to think about food. We are still in the trenches of recovery, and that support has carried us more than people know - even still today.

Just before Christmas, Chris met with a pastor from our church. Afterward, I could see a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he shared how much he needed that time to talk with someone. He felt comfortable enough to attend Christmas Eve services, and I am so thankful for that gift.

His pain does seem to be decreasing. He’s taking less pain medication each day and using lidocaine to numb his throat throughout the day, but his swallowing is not improving, which continues to worry us. He has a doctor’s appointment after the new year, and we’re hoping for a scope to better understand what his throat looks like after chemo and radiation, and to find a path forward so he can eat again and eventually come off the G-tube.

For now, I’m grateful the G-tube exists and that he’s able to get the nutrition he needs to keep going. His energy is still low. He tires easily. He’s moving through life, and processing all of this much more slowly than he’d like. He doesn’t love that pace. I’m learning to.

On this New Year’s Eve, I simply want to say thank you. We could not have walked this road without the people who have surrounded us with love, prayer, and practical help.

I can’t wait for the day I get to write that this season is fully behind us. But for now, we still need prayers for continued healing and recovery. We are still in the trenches. And we will never give up hope that God will fully restore Chris and continue to walk with us as we move forward, one meaningful moment at a time. 

A Different Kind of December

Exhaustion is the word for us right now.

Chris is sleeping a lot, still unable to swallow much, managing pain with medication even though he wishes he didn’t need it, and overall just tired of being tired. I’ve hit a new wall myself physically, mentally, and emotionally. When I’m at work is the only time I feel a sense of peace. Being with our kids ministry team, planning, prepping, organizing, creating, truly feels like my happy place. But the moment I walk through the door at home, it’s like everything in me just drops. The weight of it all rushes back in, and the exhaustion is overwhelming.

This is the most depleted and unproductive I’ve ever felt at home.

Christmas looks different for us this year. One half decorated box is inside, while ten more sit untouched in the garage because none of us have the energy to pull them out. The pumpkins from Halloween are still sitting on our porch, little reminders that I am far behind on being on top of things the way I normally am. The lights are on the house only because our sweet son hung them before heading back to school after Thanksgiving break. Our home is scattered with medical supplies. Meals are an afterthought for Kate and me. We are relying on the gift cards people so generously gave us, choosing whatever feels doable for lunch and dinner.

It’s crazy how this affects each of us differently. Kate is isolating more in her room, and I’m giving her the space she needs to process all the drastic changes this season has brought. The holidays have always held so many rhythms and traditions for us, and losing some of those this year is its own kind of grief. I’m still determined to keep a few alive if I can. But the sadness is real. The quiet at home makes the heaviness even louder.

And yet God is so close. God is so near.
This is a season of stretching and deepening our faith.
A season of remembering what truly matters.
A season of discovering who each of us is when life gets hard.

We are overwhelmed by the love and support poured out on us these past months. But I’ll be honest. Now that treatment has ended and the holidays have begun, it’s starting to feel lonely in a way I didn’t expect. Not because people don’t care, but because life naturally moves forward for everyone else. The texts slow down. The check ins taper off. And while we completely understand it cannot continue at the intensity it once did, the reality of what we are navigating hasn’t gone away.
The hard days are still here.
The medications, the pain, the exhaustion, all still here.
The long road of recovery still in front of us.

So for now, we are leaning into whatever small moments we can celebrate.
Watching movies together.
Sips of smoothies or carbonated drinks.
Finding new ways to connect.
Holding onto each other in the middle of a Christmas that looks nothing like we imagined.

Our normal is different right now, but we still have each other.
And that, truly, is the biggest gift.

When Strength Feels Small

This morning was one of those moments I will never forget. Chris broke down, and honestly, I understood every tear. He is emotionally and physically worn down. The kind of tired that sits deep in your bones. He is so tired of not feeling well, tired of not being able to eat the way he wants to, tired of the constant pain, tired of fighting every single day just to get through the basics.

I prayed over him and did my best to reassure him, but the truth is this season has stretched us in ways we have never experienced before. This is by far the most challenging part of the journey. It feels heavy and long, and some days the weight of it all sits on both of us in ways that are hard to fully put into words.

With Thanksgiving, it brings a mix of emotions. On one hand, the holiday is helping us slow down and look back at the past few months. When we do that, we really can see the many ways God has shown up for us, provided for us, and carried us when we had nothing left. But at the same time, Thanksgiving is a holiday centered so much around eating and gathering around a table. This year that looks very different for us. We are trying to figure out ways for Chris to still feel included without the pain and exhaustion making him feel left out. It weighs so heavily on my heart and makes it hard to enjoy every part of what we usually love about this time of year.

People often talk about treatment as the hard part, but no one prepares you for this in-between. The slow and painful recovery, the waiting for his body to bounce back, the wondering how long this valley will last. Watching someone you love struggle in this way is heartbreaking. It tests your strength, your patience, your faith, and your hope all at once.

But even in the middle of all of this, I still believe that God is here with us. I still believe that healing is happening even when we cannot see it yet. I still believe there will be a day when this season becomes part of our story and not the place where we feel stuck.

For today, we are doing what we can do. We breathe. We pray. We take the next step. We trust God for strength when ours runs out.

And to everyone who continues to pray, message, bring meals, provide financial help, or simply let us know we are not alone, thank you. You have no idea how much your support means to us in a season where we are just trying to get through each day.

We are still here. We are still fighting. And we are still trusting God to carry us through this valley.

Post Treatment Isn’t the Finish Line: The Part No One Really Talks About

The last couple of weeks have been unexpectedly hard. We knew recovery after chemo and radiation would take time, but we didn’t realize just how taxing this part would be physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Chris has been struggling with significant pain, exhaustion, and a level of weakness that has been difficult for all of us to watch. We honestly thought the worst side effects would come during treatment, but this stage of slowing down after the adrenaline fades has turned out to be the hardest. When everything gets quiet, all the emotions that were pushed aside suddenly rise to the surface.

The biggest challenge right now is swallowing and eating. Chris is very thin, and he looks sicker now than he did in the middle of treatment. Eating is still painful, but for the first time he is talking about how much he wants food again and what he is craving. That gives me hope that as the inflammation continues to go down and healing progresses, he may be able to start taking in more food by mouth. Even one bite is progress and we are grateful for anything that moves us forward.

His doctors increased his pain medicine to an extended release medication with Norco for breakthrough pain. It has helped him a lot. I would be lying if I said this does not touch old fears because of our history with addiction. But right now the fear has to sit in the background so that healing and comfort can come first. Every day I am practicing walking with open hands. The hard thoughts come and I have to give them to God again and again. Holding them only makes my mind spin and giving them to Him is the only way I can make it through each day.

This has also been an emotional season for Kate. Being home more means she is seeing her dad at his weakest and that is hard for anyone, especially a teen. She told me how much she dislikes seeing him this sick and my heart aches for her. We are finding things to do together at home like movies, puzzles, games, and a giant rhinestone art project. They help for a little while, but I can feel her wanting to be out of the house and away from the heaviness of watching her dad recover. Please pray that God gives us wisdom to support her heart and help her find places of peace and normalcy.

Chris finally agreed to take time off work so he can focus on recovery. It is a huge step and absolutely necessary, but it also brings another layer of financial strain. Asking for help is never easy for me. I always worry about saying too much or sounding like we are asking too often. But the truth is that life after treatment is still a very real challenge. It is not the end of the story and things are not “back to normal” yet. We are still deeply in the healing process.

If you feel led to support us through prayer, encouragement, or financially, it would mean more than I can express. There is no pressure at all. We just want to be honest about where we are. As we head into the holidays with added medical needs and care expenses, any support truly helps bridge the gap while Chris heals.

GoFundMe link

Please continue to pray for strength, for healing, for peace in our home, and for God to meet us in all the places we feel stretched thin. Recovery is still a mountain, but we trust the One who climbs it with us.

Thank you for loving us through every stage, even the ones that people do not always see.

One Day at a Time

It’s been a while since I’ve shared an update, partly because we’ve been busy just trying to get acclimated at home and find our rhythm again.

Chris’ pneumonia is finally improving, which is a huge praise! He’s been faithfully using his incentive spirometer to help strengthen his lungs, and we can see progress little by little. He’s continued to stay on track with both radiation and chemo, and we’re down to just two more chemo treatments and three more radiation sessions.

While we’re definitely looking forward to not having to go to daily treatments, his doctor reminded us that this next phase isn’t quite the finish line. Radiation and chemo are the gifts that “keep on giving,” as she put it, meaning the effects will actually peak and worsen for a time before he starts to feel any improvement. So we’re not thinking too far ahead right now. We’re simply staying present, taking things day by day, and focusing on the care and strength needed for today.

I can’t even begin to describe how much Chris has had to endure. His smell and taste are gone. He hasn’t eaten or had a sip of water by mouth in weeks. When he told me the other day how much he missed food, my heart broke. Yet even in the middle of this, his faith and determination amaze me. You think you know someone’s strength, and then something like this shows you just how deep it truly runs.

He is my superhero.
The strength, endurance, focus, and sheer grit he’s shown through all of this leave me in awe.

Even so, I find myself constantly reminding him to slow down and rest. Tonight I walked into the kitchen to find him making fresh batches of pepper jelly for his loyal jelly fans. It’s such a picture of who he is, always wanting to create and give, even when he should be resting and recovering from his daily treatment. As much as I love that he finds joy in distraction, I’ve realized that when I’m not home, he tends to overdo it. So I’m planning to be closer to home more, helping him rest and recover the way he needs.

From the moment we wake up until late at night, our days are full of caring for his needs, things I never imagined would take so much time and energy. Making sure he gets enough calories when food isn’t an option. Crushing and prepping meds. Timing pain relief, managing cough medicine that flows like water, tracking electrolytes, flushing feeding bags, cleaning humidifiers, refilling purified water bottles for every room, and keeping air purifiers running around the clock. It’s exhausting, yes, but I can honestly say I love taking care of him. There’s something sacred in this season, even in the chaos. These long, busy days hold a strange mix of tenderness and peace that words can’t quite capture.

Sometimes I just stop and look at him, thinner and weaker, his body clearly marked by the battle, and yet inside there’s a strength that’s moving mountains. A strength that’s fighting back with every ounce of faith and resilience he has. 

And if all of that weren’t enough, Chris has still been working and going to school full time through this entire journey. He keeps working mainly because he worries about providing for us financially, and I know that’s been heavy on his heart. But we’re trusting that God will continue to make a way. After a lot of prayer and conversations, I finally helped nudge him toward taking short-term disability. He’ll finish out one more week of work and then take six weeks off to hopefully give his body the rest it needs.

Of course, he still insists he won’t take a break from school. I’ve learned not to push him until he’s ready, just to support him where he’s at until that moment comes when he looks at me and I say, “Are you ready to take a break now?” and he finally says yes. Whether that moment comes for school too, only time will tell. For now, we’ll keep walking forward, trusting that God will provide for every need, even through the holidays, just as He always has.

And that gives me hope. Someday soon, this will all be a distant memory. I look forward to that day when we can sit side by side, look back, and say, “We made it through.” But even now, in the middle of it, there’s peace, the kind that only God can give in the hardest seasons.

Each day holds its own challenges but also its own quiet miracles. And for now, that’s enough.
We’ll keep walking one day at a time, trusting that the same God who’s carried us this far will keep carrying us through. 

We’re continually humbled by the way God uses people to show His goodness. Every text, prayer, meal, financial donation, and thoughtful act has been a glimpse of His faithfulness and grace. Thank you for walking beside us in this season and helping us see His light on even the hardest days.

Grace in the hard, joy in the small,

❤️Beth (and Chris)

Back Home: Finding Our Rhythm Again

It’s been so nice to be home. Just having Chris wake up in our own bed feels like a gift. The quiet, the comfort, the normal rhythms of home — all of it means more than ever. But even with the peace of being home, the days are still full, busy, and challenging as Chris continues to heal.

He’s still recovering from pneumonia, and his immune system remains low. Everything he takes in right now is through his G-tube — food, water, and medicine. One of the tests in the hospital showed that when he drinks regular water, it goes into his lungs instead of his stomach, which causes aspiration. So if he does drink, the water has to be thickened to help him swallow safely. It’s not something he enjoys doing, but it’s necessary for now.

Between prepping liquid nutrition, crushing and mixing medications, tracking electrolytes, and making sure he’s getting enough rest, the days fill up quickly. He’s been working hard to catch up on his school assignments, and we’ll both be back to work this week since we don’t have enough PTO left to cover much more time away. We know we’ll need to take time off again soon as chemo and radiation progress, so we’re trying to conserve what we can for when he really needs it.

Radiation started back up yesterday, and chemo begins again this Thursday. That means we’re back to five days of radiation and one day of chemo each week. As grateful as I am that treatment is continuing, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about his immune system. Thankfully, his medical oncologist will be checking his ANC levels weekly to monitor how well his body is fighting infection.

At home, we’re realizing how much hospital equipment made things easier. We’re on the hunt for a better pill crusher (doing each one by hand takes forever!) and a suction machine to help with the throat congestion caused by pneumonia and radiation. Please pray we can find what we need soon — those little things make such a big difference day to day.

Today, Kate and I sat down to plan our meals and schedule for the week. We went grocery shopping to prep some grab-and-go meals, hoping to make things easier during the long days ahead. The things that used to feel so simple — tossing dinner together, running errands, keeping up with meals — now take so much more effort. Even eating has become complicated in its own way. It’s still hard to eat in front of Chris when he can’t, and we’re trying to be considerate and sensitive to that. There’s a quiet ache in those moments, but also a deep gratitude for being together at home.

Kate has been such an amazing help. She is so steady, helpful, and patient. I’m so grateful for the friends who have picked her up for lunch dates, fun outings, and moments of normalcy when I can’t. It’s reminded me again how deeply we’re surrounded by love.

Each day brings its own mix of gratitude and grit, quiet moments of peace, small victories of prayers answered, and the steady reminder that healing is a process. We’re learning to celebrate progress over perfection, rest when we can, and trust that God is still writing beauty into this hard story, one step at a time.

Please keep praying for healing, for protection from illness, and for strength as we balance treatment, work, school and home life. Thank you to those who have helped us with groceries, meals, gift cards, coffee, and given so generously through Venmo and GoFundMe. Your kindness has helped ease the weight of these long weeks and is allowing us to prepare for the time ahead when Chris will need to step back and rest again.

Heading Home 

After a long hospital stay, we’re so thankful to share that Chris is finally coming home. His levels have improved enough for him to continue healing here, surrounded by comfort, quiet, and love, and for that, we’re deeply grateful. Your prayers were heard and answered. God is so good, all the time. In both the hard and the good seasons, He is faithful.

His immune system remains fragile, so we’ll be following strict infection precautions at home and keeping a close eye on his recovery. Each day will take careful monitoring, rest, and healing. He’s still weak and fighting infection, and he’ll need continued care before cancer treatment can safely begin again. For today, we’re celebrating this step of coming home and focusing on the present moment with gratitude.

We’re holding on to hope, one day at a time, and we’re so thankful for how far he’s come. Every prayer, meal, message, and bit of financial support is carrying us more than words can say.

Thank you for continuing to walk this journey with us. Your love and prayers mean the world. ❤️

Trusting Through the Hard

I went home early this morning to rest because sleep just wouldn’t come at the hospital last night. The fight for Chris’ pain meds has been frustrating, trying to get doctors who aren’t part of his cancer care team to understand the level of pain he’s in has felt like an uphill battle. But today we finally got his medication adjusted to a dosage that’s helping him be more comfortable and get some rest.

His color looks better today. We were able to get him up for a little while to wash his hair, brush his teeth, and freshen up a bit. Small things, but they feel like big victories right now. He’s still so tired, with little energy for anything, but every gentle step forward feels like grace.

They found MRSA around his G-tube, so that’s a new prayer request to add to the list. Talking has become harder for him, and with the pneumonia, even whispering a few words takes so much effort. Watching him struggle to communicate his needs breaks my heart. I would take all of this from him if I could.

There are moments I ache for the normal days, when our house smelled like his pepper jelly cooking in the kitchen, when we were prepping for his fall vendor fair, when my worries were about laundry, dinner, or which decorations to put out for Fall. Those little things that used to feel hectic now seem like such gifts.

As much as I want these hard days to pass, I also see how God is slowing us down, teaching us to lean on Him more deeply, reminding us of what really matters. In the moments when we’re depleted and just putting one foot in front of the other, I see Him most clearly. I’ve whispered countless little prayers these past few days, and I’ve watched Him answer every single one, in small ways and big ones.

I’m clinging to Proverbs 3:5–6 today:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and lean not on your own understanding,
in all your ways acknowledge Him,
and He will make your paths straight.

Even when the path feels uncertain, I know He’s walking it with us.

In the Valley

No one could have prepared us for this season.

We’ve both walked parents through cancer and all that comes with it, the doctor visits, the side effects, the waiting rooms, the prayers that don’t stop. But when it’s your spouse, it’s different. The emotions hit deeper, the care needed is greater, and balancing work, school, and daily life becomes its own kind of climb.

The last several days have been long and heavy. We spent last night and today in the ER as the hospital worked to find an available room.

Tonight, one finally opened up. Because of his condition, they placed him in a private room where he can rest more comfortably. He’s settled in now, and we’re praying he can finally get a good night’s sleep. Last night was rough. He’s weak, in pain, without a voice, and finding it difficult to talk, so even asking for help is hard. I’m staying with him tonight to make sure he has everything he needs after such a hard night alone.

Even though this week has stretched us in every way, we can still see God’s blessings in the details.

The biggest one is each other. In the stillness of his hospital room, curtain drawn, Spotify playing Chris’ favorite smooth jazz,  we can almost forget where we are. That soft music brings a small sense of peace in the middle of all the noise. It’s in those quiet moments that I’m reminded how grateful I am just to be here with him. The simple blessing of just being together means everything.

For now, Chris has paused both school and work for the week, a decision he’s not happy about but one that’s necessary. This illness has also paused his chemo and radiation, which brings a whole new layer of worry, knowing his cancer treatments are temporarily on hold.

We know this is a season. We know it will eventually pass and shift into another “new normal.” But right now, it's evident we’re in the valley. And although we can see the mountaintop ahead, the climb feels steep. Every time we take a step forward, it seems like the rock slips beneath our feet, sending us back down to begin the climb again.

I’m trying to do what I can to work remotely, and Kate is helping make sure things are set up at Hillside so the kids don’t miss anything this week. Some may not understand how working during this season could bring peace, but for me, it’s not a distraction, it’s a steady place of purpose. It helps me hold on to a bit of normalcy in the middle of so much uncertainty. I truly love what I do, and I’m grateful that God uses this work to help sustain me when everything else feels heavy.

Still, no matter how much I tried to prepare for this season, nothing could have prepared me for the weight of watching Chris so weak and in pain, for the sleepless nights, or for the heart-outside-your-chest moments when you know the only thing holding you up is God’s strength, not your own.

To everyone who has texted, messaged, prayed, or donated to help us financially - THANK YOU! Your kindness has been an anchor for us. So many of our prayers have been answered through friends and family who have stepped in with meals, messages, financial help, and encouragement at just the right time.

Chris and I both have limited PTO, and every bit of support helps ease the burden of missing work while making sure he gets the care he needs. We’re walking this road open-handed, trusting that God will continue to provide exactly what we need for each day.

From the bottom of our hearts, thank you.

I’ll continue to share updates as often as possible as we move through this season together, trusting that even in the valley, God is still writing our story with purpose and grace.

Back at the ER

We’re back at the ER tonight.
It’s Day 6 of a high fever that just won’t break. After more scans and labs, the doctors found pneumonia in both of Chris’s lungs. They’re admitting him to the hospital so they can begin IV antibiotics and watch him closely.

It’s hard to see him so worn down. Every breath feels like work, every day another layer of waiting and praying. He’s been fighting so faithfully through chemo, radiation, and now this. I keep reminding myself God is still here in the waiting, still writing a story that’s not finished.

Kate and I are staying close, doing our best to hold things together and be steady in the swirl. She’s such a comfort quietly strong and gracious in ways that remind me of God’s presence through her.

Please keep praying for healing in Chris’s lungs, for his strength to return, and for peace to fill this hospital room tonight.

Even here, in the hard, we believe God is near.

Held in the Hard

This week has been another one filled with ups and downs.

On Tuesday, Chris spiked a fever, and by Wednesday we were in the ER. He was diagnosed with the flu, something that would normally be unpleasant but manageable, except that it’s layered on top of chemo and radiation side effects. The aches, fatigue, and weakness have been harder this time, and recovery feels slower.

His chemo is currently on pause until he’s better, which is disappointing for both of us, but the doctors assure us this is temporary. Radiation will continue as long as he’s well enough to go. Chris likes doing as much as he can for himself, so when he asked me yesterday if I could drive him to radiation, it was huge for him, a small but humbling reminder that he’s just not feeling well.

I took some time off work this week and realized how much it helps to be home with him throughout the day. We’re learning how to navigate this balance between work and caregiving with limited PTO for both of us. No one really prepares you for how hard that part is. Trying to make sure we’re there for treatments, recovery, and still meeting work responsibilities. On top of that, the extra expenses that come with treatment, from medications to gas to hospital visits, have added another layer of strain we weren’t fully ready for. We’re taking it one week at a time, trusting that God will continue to provide what we need.

Even in the middle of this exhaustion, Chris' spirit amazes me. He’s been so strong through it all, never wavering, never questioning why this is happening, and never complaining about pain or discomfort. He keeps reminding me, “This is a season that will pass.” The doctors have said January should bring an upswing, and we’re holding on to that hope tightly.

At home, Kate has started to struggle a bit too. The weight of so much change, so fast, has brought up big emotions. Her 15th birthday was on September 28th, a milestone that feels both beautiful and bittersweet. Looking back, the day felt like a bit of a blur. She celebrated with a close friend at an escape room and had a great time, but even with the smiles and laughter, there was still this undercurrent of how different things feel right now. In another season, we would’ve gone out to dinner, gathered family, and celebrated big. This year looked quieter, simpler, and while we’re so thankful she still had joy in the day, it was another reminder of how much has shifted for her too. We’re trying to help her process those feelings and find small pockets of normalcy and fun, even when “normal” feels hard to define.

And yet, in the midst of all this, God continues to show up through people at just the right time.

This week, we’ve opened the door to amazing packages, meals delivered with love and care, and even a group of my incredible volunteers and coworkers who blessed us with gift cards to help us through the coming month. My family has stepped in with housecleaning and helping meet the little needs that keep piling up. Every bit of it every meal, every note, every prayer has carried us.

We’ve seen God daily in our hard.
A text with scripture comes at just the right time.
A friend checks in with exactly the words we need to hear.
A meal shows up when we’re too tired to cook.
A gift card appears right when a need arises.
A hug, a conversation, a moment of laughter all right on time.

Even the joy and distraction I find in working with kids and our amazing volunteers feels like His reminder that He’s still here, holding us steady.

God is so, so good to us. We continue to praise Him daily, even in this hard season. Thank you, friends, for showing us Jesus through your love, generosity, and care. It’s seen. It’s felt. And it’s so deeply appreciated.

If you’ve asked how to support us in this season, please know your prayers, encouragement, and kindness mean the world. For those who’ve reached out asking about practical ways to help, we’ve shared an Amazon Wish List  and other ways to help with ongoing needs as they come up. Your love and generosity remind us daily that we’re not walking through this alone. ❤️

Grace for the Days That Feel Heavy

Today marks our 24th wedding anniversary, a milestone that looks different than we ever imagined. It’s hard, heavy, and tender all at once. Love takes on a new kind of strength when you’re walking through something like this.

We also had the incredible opportunity to attend the Head and Neck Cancer Symposium in Los Angeles. It was one of those God-orchestrated moments that makes you stop and say, “Only He could have aligned this.” The event brought together some of the top doctors and survivors in this specific field, and for us, it was exactly what we needed.

We learned so much. Practical things we can do now to help manage symptoms, prevent certain side effects, and keep Chris’s body as strong as possible during treatment. One of the biggest takeaways, even though Chris is 100% on a feeding tube right now, he has to continue swallowing every day to keep the muscles working. It’s hard, it's painful, but it’s vital.

Hearing stories from survivors gave us both encouragement and perspective. Seeing people who have walked this road and come out the other side reminded us that hope is still alive in the middle of this valley.

Emotionally, this week has been a mix of exhaustion and gratitude. Chris is starting to feel overwhelmed by the amount of care required, from constant feedings and rinses to medications and rest, all while juggling work and school. And I’m trying to find that balance of giving him independence while also caring for him well.

If I’m honest, even the small tasks are beginning to take a toll on me. Things I used to do without thinking, like making a meal, answering an email, text, or keeping up with laundry, now feel like mountains. My brain and body feel worn thin, and I’m learning that sometimes survival looks like letting things go and trusting that God will carry what I can’t.

In the middle of all this, we’ve been so touched by the kindness of others. The surprise Amazon wish list packages, gift cards for drive-thru meals, and homemade dinners have been such a blessing. On the days when we’re too tired to think about what to eat or how to plan a meal, your generosity has stepped in and lifted that burden. Every delivery, every note, every act of love has reminded us that we’re not walking this road alone.

But even here, in the hard, I’m reminded that God meets us in the middle of our mess. He gives strength for the next step, even when we can’t see far ahead.

🙏 How You Can Be Praying

• For Chris: That his body continues to tolerate treatments, that his pain is managed well, and that his spirit stays encouraged even in the hard days of recovery. Pray specifically that his swallowing muscles stay active and strong.

• For Wisdom and Rest: That we find the right rhythm between care, work, and rest, and that I can discern when to step in and when to give Chris space to do things on his own.

• For Strength and Peace: For both of us to feel God’s nearness in the exhaustion, to find moments of peace in the chaos, and to keep hope alive when the days feel heavy.

• For Community: That we continue to feel surrounded by love and support, even as the road gets long and the pace wears us down.

Thank you to everyone who continues to pray, check in, send messages, or just silently hold space for us. It all matters more than you know.

💛 Beth

Holding On, Leaning In

No one prepares you for how cancer changes life. It impacts not only the body but also emotions, routines, and the way each day feels. We are now entering the fourth week of Chris’s treatment, and the road is not easy.

Chris is walking through some very hard days. He is now fully on a feeding tube because swallowing food or drink has become too painful. His pain is increasing, and we are navigating medications and ways to bring him relief. Humidifiers run in nearly every room, which helps a little, but new side effects seem to show up as soon as we start adjusting to the last ones. Dry mouth and mouth sores are making things even more difficult. It looks like he’s growing a bit weaker, and he feels self-conscious about the ways he notices his appearance changing. I see it too, but I keep reminding him of how strong and good he looks to me. My sister gently reminded me today that this will not last forever - strength will return, healing will come, and who he is at the core has not changed. That reminder helped me breathe a little deeper and gave us both hope for what is ahead.

We are still waiting on insurance to deliver the formula for his tube, so in the meantime he is supplementing with homemade protein shakes and boxed mixes. He continues to work and go to school when he can, which I know gives him something to focus on besides the pain.

For me, this season is stretching in new ways. I am still learning how to be present with Chris, support him through weakness, and hold onto hope while not letting my own emotions weigh on him. Eating together has been especially hard. Kate and I feel the tension of being grateful for food while sitting across from someone we love who cannot share in it. It makes even the simple act of dinner feel complicated.

I am realizing I may need to be home more to make sure Chris has everything he needs. Rest does not come easily for him, and it takes energy to manage all the details of care and treatment.

A blessing from God this week was stumbling across a head and neck cancer symposium happening in Los Angeles THIS Saturday. We quickly booked tickets, knowing it could help us connect with doctors and medical professionals in this field, get support for the symptoms and side effects Chris is facing, and learn more about what lies ahead. What are the chances that the Head and Neck Cancer Alliance, usually held in other states, just happens to be HERE in Los Angeles, right when we are in treatment? For us, that is God shining His blessings in the middle of our valley.

What I keep coming back to is this: each day brings new challenges, but it also brings new reminders of God’s faithfulness and the gift of community. We are held up by prayers, words of encouragement, and the kindness of friends and family. Even in the hardest days, that is what steadies us.

Many of you have kindly asked how you can help in this season, and we are so grateful. A few practical ways that make a difference for us right now are:

• Chris’s Amazon Wish List, which has items that bring him comfort and support.

• Trader Joe’s and Ralphs gift cards, which help Kate and me with quick, easy-to-make meals.

• Local restaurant or drive-thru gift cards, which make it possible for us to grab food on the way home so we aren’t eating in front of Chris when he can’t join us.

Please know that your prayers and encouragement are just as valuable as any tangible gift. Every message, meal, or small act of kindness reminds us that we are not walking this road alone. Thank you for continuing to carry us through this.

Carried by Prayer & Blessings

This past Wednesday night, Chris began having more trouble swallowing, and today the pain has become much harder to manage. He has started on a stronger pain medication and throat-numbing medicine, but the relief is short-lived. This is one of the tougher turns we knew would come, and we are leaning heavily on God’s strength in the middle of it.

We’re also waiting for home health to drop off food so Chris can begin using his G-tube. For now, he is still trying to eat soft foods, but even that is a challenge. The hot tea he has always loved, and other warm foods, are now hard to swallow. So we’re freezing fruit, making smoothies, and smothering any food we can chop up with sauces to help him get it down more easily. I’m not going to lie, it’s hard to watch. It’s hard to see him in pain. It’s hard not to be able to fix this. But I am leaning on God to help me help him.

Even as the road grows harder, we continue to see God’s kindness all around us. The small blessings we received this week have truly carried us through - texts filled with prayer and encouragement, simple frozen meals and surprise dinners dropped off right when we had no time to prepare, and Amazon packages with needed items arriving at our doorstep. Along with baked goods that reminded us of sweet friendships, each act of kindness has felt like a little miracle, pointing us back to the truth that we are not walking this road alone.

As we step into Week 3, we ask for your prayers more than ever. Please pray for Chris’s comfort. That the pain would ease and the medicines would be effective. Pray for strength for each day, for endurance in the middle of weariness, and for peace that only God can give.

We are holding on to this promise:

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10

God’s Provision Through Community

Chris finished his first week of treatment, and we are grateful to say he’s doing well so far. He had his second round of chemo yesterday, and one thing that has surprised us is how the day after chemo seems to be when he feels his best. Today, though, he noticed his taste buds starting to change. No matter how much salt he added, he couldn’t taste it. It’s a small but real reminder that his body is walking through something big.

What has carried us most this week has been the incredible support we’ve received. We are abundantly blessed with meals dropped off at our door, Amazon wishlist items arriving at just the right time, encouraging text messages, coffee and lunch dates, and so many faithful prayers. Our “Blessings Board” is already covered in names, and the list of people who have shown up for us keeps growing every day.

Chris and I have looked at each other more than once in disbelief, saying, “We didn’t realize our community was this big.” Honestly, when we first got his diagnosis, I was worried. We weren’t actively in a community group at church, and life had gotten so busy that I thought maybe we wouldn’t have people to walk with us. I remember telling Chris I was afraid no one would check in or pray for us. But looking back now, I think God must have just smiled at that worry. In my heart, I can almost hear Him whisper, “Trust in Me.”

We’re learning that community isn’t confined to a group or a meeting time. It’s built in the everyday rhythms of life—serving alongside others, sharing Bible studies, and building friendships that don’t disappear even when you step away for a season. This week has reminded us never to underestimate the power of having people to do life with. God has been showing us, over and over, that we are not alone.

In between treatments, we’ve been finding small joys and simple helps. We’ve been experimenting with new smoothie flavors, and our new “Souper Cube” trays have been a lifesaver for freezing meals into individual portions that are quick to heat and serve on the days when energy is low.

Eight radiation treatments and two rounds of chemo are now behind us, with thirty-two more treatments to go in total. It’s a long road, but as we step into week two, we do so with gratitude, hope, and prayer for strength in the days ahead.

Thank you for being the hands and feet of Jesus to us. Every prayer, every meal, every message, every small act of kindness has reminded us of God’s love. We are walking through this with full hearts because we know we are walking with Him and with all of you.

This Week’s Blessings

We are reminded daily that God provides through the love and care of people around us. Every prayer, package, meal, and message points us back to His faithfulness.

Blessings We’ve Seen:

🍲 Meals Shared
Homemade dinners, soups, and treats that show up right when we need them.

📦 Packages Received
Surprises in-person and on our doorstep that bring comfort, encouragement, and joy. 

☕ Coffee & Lunch Dates
Friends sitting with us, listening, and lifting our spirits in everyday moments.

🙏 Prayers Lifted
Texts, calls, and reminders that people are interceding for us daily.

💌 Encouraging Messages
Notes and words that remind us we are not walking this road alone.

🤝 Support in Other Ways
Help in countless little ways - rides, errands, household chores, groceries purchased & extra help at work, 

Each blessing is a reminder that God sees us, cares for us, and surrounds us with His people. We are so grateful for the ways He is showing us that we are never alone.

Finding Our New Rhythm

Life seems to be moving either super slow or super fast these days. We thought we had another week until treatment began, but then we got the call last Tuesday - it was starting the very next day. Just like that, we were in it.

One round of chemo is behind us, and three rounds of radiation are done. Nausea and extra rest are now part of Chris’ daily rhythm. The best way he describes it is “like having the flu”, aches, fatigue, and just feeling overall blah. His neck is already showing redness from the radiation, which we knew would come, but for now, I’ll take it as a reminder the treatment is working.

Today, Chris is getting a G-tube put in. We know it will be necessary in the coming weeks as treatment progresses, but I’m holding onto hope that he won’t need it as often as the doctors expect.

We cannot thank you enough for your prayers, texts, emails, meal drop-offs, Amazon wish list surprises, and protein powder. You have no idea how much these small things have lifted our spirits and helped us focus on what matters most - Chris’ health and our family time. Meals, which used to be the center of our home, have shifted into quick heat-and-eat moments. But in their place, we’ve found sweet time together talking, playing games, and watching shows that let the hard fade into the background, even just for a little while.

God keeps reminding us of what’s truly important right now: community. Having people surround you with love and support when you need it most, it changes everything. We feel that deeply in this season, and we are so grateful.

Beginning Treatment

In our last update, we shared the praise of moving one step closer to treatment with Chris’s CT simulation and mask fitting. Today, we wanted to let you know that the next chapter officially begins.

Today we got the call, and tomorrow Chris starts chemo and radiation. We’re stepping into a seven-week journey of daily appointments and unknowns. Right now, Chris is planning to continue both working and attending school full-time during treatment, but of course, we’ll take it one day at a time and make adjustments as needed.

At the same time, I'm entering a busy ten-week season at work and I'm hoping to continue working full-time as well. We’re holding everything with open palms, ready to shift directions at any moment if Chris’s health requires it. His healing and strength are our first priority.

Everything has been moving quickly, and we’re doing our best to pull things together as we head into this next stretch. For those who have asked how they can help, I am putting together a list of items for Chris that would be a blessing during these coming weeks and will post them here.

Chemo will be five hours tomorrow, followed by 30 minutes of radiation. Moving forward, radiation will take place Monday through Friday, with chemo one day a week. Each treatment will be at a different facility, which adds another layer to the routine and logistics we’ll be navigating.

We know asking for help over the next 7+ weeks is asking a lot. What we covet most of all is prayer. We’ll share Chris’s exact chemo and radiation times for this week as soon as I get them, so anyone who feels led can be praying for him right in those moments.

Chemo appointment: 10:30AM

Radiation appointment: 4:40PM

Thank you for walking this road with us. Your love, encouragement, and prayers mean more than we can say.

With love and hope, 

Beth

The Waiting Place

This summer changed everything for our family. In July, Chris was diagnosed with squamous cell carcinoma, a form of head and neck cancer. We are currently waiting for treatment to begin, which will include both chemotherapy and radiation. These weeks have been filled with insurance approvals, appointments, and research as we try to prepare ourselves and our home for what lies ahead.

Right now, we find ourselves in a sweet place of normalcy. Chris is still working and continuing school. Beth is homeschooling Kate and keeping up with work. Connor has just started his senior year "away" at school. On the surface, life looks familiar and steady. Yet underneath, we know change is coming. Soon treatment will begin, and what feels normal now will shift into something new and much harder. That reality sits with us every day, even in the ordinary moments.

The pace of life feels both too fast and not fast enough. One moment we are celebrating Kate’s school plans or Connor’s milestones, and the next moment we are pulled back into the reality of doctors, side effect discussions, and treatment schedules. It is an emotional rollercoaster, and some days the waiting is the hardest part.

In the meantime, we are doing what we can to get ready. We are organizing the house, gathering information about treatment and holistic supports, and preparing our hearts for a season that will stretch us in every way. We know it will not be easy, but we also know we are not walking this alone.

Please pray for us in this time of waiting. Pray for Chris’ strength and peace as he looks ahead to treatment. Pray for wisdom and strength for Beth as she balances caregiving, work, and homeschooling. Pray for Kate to feel steady and supported during high school. Pray for Connor while he enters his senior year away from home.

We are trusting God one step at a time. Thank you for standing with us, covering us in prayer, and reminding us that we are surrounded by love.

Love, 

Beth 

This Week's Praise and Next Steps

This week brought a HUGE praise: a CT Simulation, an important step that brings us closer to treatment. During this step, Chris was fitted for his radiation mask. It’s a strange thing to celebrate, but we’re grateful because it means the process is moving forward. Chris sent us a picture of him on the table while they were fitting him with the mask. He said I can share the picture with you (below). 

If you know Chris, you know his positive outlook on life, and that has not changed. He is doing well energy-wise and is busy checking off last-minute house projects before treatment begins. We’ve noticed small changes, like his voice sounding slightly different, which is a constant reminder of what’s going on beneath the surface.

Another huge praise, Chris and I were able to attend our high school community group we help lead on Wednesday night.. Chris is going to do his best to keep being there with them for as long as he can until treatment starts, while I step back for the next 10-weeks to begin transitioning into leading our church’s Kids Discipleship Night for Kindergarten–4th graders, serving with some of my amazing friends who are volunteering.

One of the biggest blessings right now has been the outpouring of love we’ve received. Your texts, DMs, emails, post comments, and phone calls have carried us more than you know. They’re not just “thank you” moments for us. They are reminders that we are not walking this journey alone. To help us hold onto that truth, I’ve created a 'Blessings board' in our home with the names of each person who has blessed or is currently blessing our family. It’s becoming a constant reminder that we are surrounded by a community lifting us through this process. We feel your prayers and encouragement, and it means the world to our whole family.

Looking ahead:

• Chris will have a G-tube placed on September 13th. This will help when swallowing becomes more difficult from radiation and ensure he stays hydrated and nourished.

• We don’t have an official treatment start date yet, but if the radiation team finalizes the planning this week, chemo and radiation could begin as early as Monday, September 15th.

• At home, we’re working hard to get everything ready for this next season. It looks like Chris will finally be getting the recliner he’s been asking for, since the radiologist said he shouldn’t be lying flat to sleep. In between work hours, I’ve been researching and gathering supplies, special soaps, lotions, creams, humidifiers, mouth rinses, gels, toothpastes, deodorant, comfy pull-on clothes, soft blankets, and seat belt covers for appointments. I’m also trying to stock up on freezer meals for Kate and me so we’ll be prepared once treatment begins.

• It feels like the list of things to get or prepare is getting longer instead of shorter, but we’re trying to balance the busyness of preparation with the sweetness of enjoying the present. Kate and I are working together to plan out our meals for the week ahead, and it’s been so sweet to see how helpful she has been with shopping, making decisions, prepping, and keeping things simple and easy. 

Again, thank you friends for continuing to walk with us in prayer and encouragement. Every message, every call, every prayer is a gift we don’t take for granted.

With love,

Beth