Dear friends. .

Dear friends,
Yesterday we heard back from our oncology team.
We are sitting here now, waiting in the school carpark.
Waiting to pick up our sons and tell them.
Tell them that dad won't be going to Sydney for an operation. Not this time.
Tell them that there doesn't seem to be any other option in chemotherapy world that might fight back the cancer.
Tell them that we are going on a family holiday starting next weekend.
Tell them.. because they need to know.
They need to know that when our kind-hearted oncologist called yesterday, he said words we didn't want to hear.
He said that options have been exhausted and his advice is to "enjoy the time you have left. "
Those words.

And so we are here.. I'm watching my sons dance and jump across the pedestrian crossing (they can't seem to just simply walk around ).
They are all talking and clamouring for their dad's attention as they juggle school bags and hats..
And my heart is about to burst wide open.
I don't want to do this.
But it is our privilege to parent these outstanding sons. And today parenting looks like this.
It looks like a heart broken.

Enjoy your time.
The hours and the weeks.
The months and the years.
Enjoy them with a ferocious thankfulness.

We have been given a number.
Months.
Just a few.

With wide eyed faith we run into these next days.
Wide eyed faith means we hear the report and we call out for our miracle.

Let me tell you about miracles.
We have three.
We weren't supposed to have children. Medically improbable.

And here we are.
About to tell our improbable miracles what we face and what we need.

A miracle.