A Well Written Story
Most of that you know me know Josh, and most of you like him more than me; it’s expected; he is extremely likable.
I gave up a long time ago trying to underplay what we have, and I also know that those of you that know us see it. We are authentic; what you see is what you get; we have had many years to figure this out. I could write countless blog posts about how much I love and respect Josh; who knows, maybe I will.
But for today, I’m going to let him do the talking, I know, shocking.
Last week, I said I would introduce you to key players in my life. I choose to do this because I want to be so clear about where my strength comes from.
It is not a “Karly” thing; It is because of the love surrounding me.
A little about our author today. Josh Renn is not a native Texan; he was born in Washington, D.C. but made it to Texas when he was five, so we will give him partial credit. He is the youngest of four children, his birthday is November 15th, and he is a 9 on the Enneagram.
A Well Written Story
Written By Josh Renn
I used to write. Mostly stories (or attempts at them, at least) that read of what life could be longings and dreams. I was even paid for a while to write, including a few op-eds and weekly columns.
I stopped writing when I met Karly. It was not because I lost the ability or drive but because it was no longer necessary.
There was no need to dream or fantasize anymore. Much of what I dreamed of came true, and anything else left to find seemed like it would just come. More importantly, someone more well-versed took over the story for me, and I happily gave up my pen.
What a story it was. The words, phrases, and moments flowed freely in a beautiful melodic cadence. It was already written but unfolded to us. An amazing tale was turning into challenging, moving, and whole.
Full of love and admiration. Full of peace and contentment.
Within some time, our house was full, and our lives felt complete.
It is our story, and it is beautiful.
As with any good story, highs accompany the lows. We never wallowed in the times that could have held us down. We just looked into each other and saw what could and would be for us. Our love was something that could not be put down and left behind. So we didn’t.
And I tell you this, I never thought once of picking that pen back up. It didn’t matter where we went; I knew our story was in good hands, and the author never failed to show grace and love.
Then came June.
The boys, Ryan, and I watched a movie late that night: Top Gun. Karly called from a shift at work to tell me she wasn’t feeling well and was going to get checked out. I was worried, but she seemed to chalk it up to stress or something minimal. Karly knows herself very well, and I felt at ease. “Go get checked out and keep me posted,” I said.
The movie ended, and the kids went to bed. Karly and I texted back and forth.
“I am good. I’ll call if anything changes.”
I went to bed.
At 2 am, my phone rang. Karly, distraught, told me they did a CT scan and found spots on her brain. Those words didn’t make sense. We were reeling. I moved around the room, not knowing where to go. Almost stuck.
She hung up; I dressed in a hurry and called a friend to come and be at our house. Everyone was asleep.
Christian radio was on in the Suburban; I didn’t change it.
I knew if I let my foot go, it would be too heavy, so I set the cruise control at 85 and ran down the tollway.
I cried. I screamed. I prayed. I cried more.
Questions were pouring into me, threatening to flood my mind and consume me. I spoke out loud, “We got this, one step at a time.”
I pulled into the hospital parking lot and made my way to her side.
Dark.
That was those hours, just deep darkness. No answers were immediate, and the ones we got only led to more questions. Our minds just raced. Does she have hours? Days? Months?
I watched our lives deconstruct. I watched the love of my life crumble into unknowing.
As the hours passed, tests were done, doctors collaborated, and more became somewhat apparent, but I tell you, we were still in such a fog.
I tried my best to be strong to minimize the moments I broke down. I felt I needed to be a rock, listen, and hold my wife. I am not letting go. All I know is her, and all I longed for was her.
I remember Karly telling me at one point that I had to let people close to us know what was happening so they could be there for me. For me? I thought all I want is to be there for her; I didn’t need anyone for me.
I reluctantly began to call friends. With each, the words and recap of what had happened to Karly made me weep uncontrollably. So much so that I apologized and just had to wait until I could speak again.
When each asked if they could do anything without failing, I asked that they pray. I didn’t hesitate to wonder if they did pray; I just knew we needed it, and I knew they would.
I learned quickly that we have amazing friends and an even more amazing family that rallied to Karly’s side. We are so grateful.
Over ten months have passed.
So much has happened since that late-night call and those dark days following. We have had happiness and sadness in this new normal that we are navigating.
I knew when I met her, but I have a better understanding now that Karly is the strongest woman I know. She takes this challenge head-on and advocates for herself. Watching her is so beautiful.
I tell you this story not because I am the author but to say to you He is. Our story is unfolding before our eyes, and despite the darkness, I trust that the Lord will see us through. It is not a wishful thing; it is a knowing thing.
I don’t know tomorrow. I know she will fight. I know I will be at her side. I know that I will pray and ask you to pray. I also know all that is above our head is at His feet.
I am grateful for every moment.
Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning
