If God is for us, who can be against us?
He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all,
how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?
Romans 8:31-32
We’re still figuring out what “God is for us” and “graciously give us all things” means and doesn’t mean. Pretty clearly it doesn’t mean God does what we want when we want it. But we’re learning that it does mean that in the midst of the turmoil of soul, He gradually helps us know He inflicts no pain vindictively, that His love really does never fail, and that we can trust Him for the future, even if the future becomes that which we fear rather than what we hope.
Twenty five trips complete. The last full week of radiation is behind us. Two more trips next week, and we’re done. I’m unsure how I feel about it just yet. Sure, the early mornings, smashing pills into powder then putting them into some juice, waking Alice up to drink it (which she hates more every day), driving 67 weary but coffee-assisted miles to the hospital, lifting Alice’s limp body off my lap and handing her over to the radiation therapist, kneeling by her bedside as she wakes up, breakfast out of a backpack – I won’t miss that much.
But I do very much enjoy an hour every morning sitting beside my dear wife chatting on the drive, usually getting to enjoy a McMuffin with her on the way home (Cheerio’s doesn’t cut it all the way for us!), and enjoying Alice’s smiles and songs coming from the backseat – I’ll probably miss that.

More than that though, I think of this tumor like a bomb exploding in her head. That’s probably not medically precise either, but that’s how I think of it. Radiation kind of puts the explosion in reverse motion. So radiation means in some sense things are getting better. Stopping radiation means the bomb is going to explode again. Not today, we hope, nor tomorrow, but in pretty much every case (again I hopefully leave the caveat “pretty much” as though it wasn’t “always,” even though that would be far more accurate) her tumor, her bomb, keeps going off, no matter how it gets stuffed back inside itself. It’s just yucky.
So in that sense, the end of radiation marks, for my mind and heart anyway, a new chapter in our story. We did find out today that the lingering radiation molecules will continue working in her body for at least another month. Then… then we wait. I don’t think we’ll just sit and wait, you understand, we’ll be doing life as best we know how, and jamming as much into it as possible, but to be perfectly honest, it feels like it’ll be waiting. Tick tock… when does this thing go off again?
But that’s tomorrow’s burden, and I shouldn’t be trying to carry it today.
Except we thought maybe it wasn’t tomorrow’s burden.
For the past week or so, once or twice a day Alice had been complaining that her eyes hurt. Or sometimes she’d say they were itchy. But she doesn’t complain either loud or long, and it’s quite possible, we reasoned, that with her major decrease in steroids, her allergies were coming back.
On Monday afternoon Shelly’s Gramma had been taken to the hospital due to some pretty intense vomiting, and just as we arrived at Children’s Hospital around 7:00 Tuesday morning, while I was tending to Alice and doing my minor part in annoying the nurses by hooking up her blood pressure cuff and pulse sensor and whatever else I can do to justify hovering over Alice and keep myself occupied, Shelly was visiting with her parents who were at the hospital up in Duluth. Gramma’s not doing well, they said. Doctors say she has at most week to live.
I went with Alice downstairs for radiation, she was put to sleep, and I went back to visit with Shelly, and we talked about running up to see Gramma. By the time Alice came back, and before she woke up, we got another call. Gramma was gone. She was 85, and got to live at her own home until the last. But she really was ready for a substantial real estate upgrade and a house she didn’t have to maintain – ever, which she at last received.
The hospital staff was so kind to us as this was unfolding around us. Dr. Tammie shifted Alice’s typical Tuesday post-radiation appointment to Wednesday so we could get on the road and head north to see her folks.

Soon after Alice woke up and had a little something to eat and drink (which isn’t much these days; her voracious appetite has completely reversed itself), we headed home, picked up the other 4, piled in the van, and headed up to the Iron Range, 135 more miles due north.
We spent the afternoon and evening with family, hanging out in Gramma’s house. We left around 7:00, plenty tired from a long strenuous day already, to make the long trip back home – in a dense fog. Typically I wouldn’t care. But somehow it seemed almost overwhelming, and thinking about Gramma’s funeral details made Shelly and I think about… well, you could probably imagine what we were trying not to think about but were anyway.
To make matters worse, while at Gramma’s I’d been watching Alice play with her favorite cousins, and I thought I saw her eyes out of alignment again. I hoped I was just seeing things, so I said nothing. However, on the way home Shelly showed me a picture she’d taken earlier in the afternoon – “Look, her eyes are bad again.” Ah crap. The eyes, after all, were the telltale sign that really alerted us to this mess in the first place.
We made it home, fog and all, and crashed into bed, but our hearts were heavy, and our minds were tired but restless. What’s up with her eyes? Is this all coming crashing down again – and before radiation is even over? Can we take any more thoughts of death and tragedy right now?
Five o’clock came all too quickly Wednesday morning. I stumbled through the morning routine of getting the “pack-pack” ready (Alice’s name for the breakfast-bearing backpack), making a pot of coffee, and other sundry and boring morning rituals. I was hoping Shelly would stay home that morning and get some rest, but like me, she’d rather go down to chat with the Doctor. After all, she said, “if it’s bad news, I want to be there for it.”
When I went down into the radiation room with Alice, I mentioned to the guys down there about her eyes, because I wanted to talk to Dr. Katie, our radiation therapy doctor, about it. She was on vacation. But Brad and Rob, the radiation guys, the anesthesiologist, the nurse and I had a little conversation about it. After Alice fell asleep, I was walking back to the room talking about it with her nurse, and she said to me, “I bet you’ll see Dr. Chris today.” Dr. Chris is the head of the brain tumor team, and we like him a lot, but we’ve only seen him twice – once the day after the MRI, and once when he gave us her prognosis post-biopsy. So we only see him when things are bad. Oh joy.
I got back to our room to wait for Alice’s return. Shelly and I talked a bit, but we were pretty well exhausted in every sense of the word. We’d have cried if we had any tears these days. She had a few, but not nearly as many as she felt like crying, I know.
And then, in a most extraordinary case of really bad timing and miscommunication, one of our daily friends there on staff at the hospital walked in with a book entitled I Miss You: A First Look at Death. She proceeded to talk to Shelly about talking to our kids about death, asked if we’d talked to them about it yet, of course we had, and though she knew us pretty well now and was certain we were able to handle the difficult conversations, this book might be a helpful tool for us.
As she talked, Shelly and I didn’t speak to each other. I don’t think we even made eye contact, but both of us were thinking the same thing, “What in the world is this all about? Are we about to find out Alice’s treatments have been a failure and she’s going to die in the next couple of days? What does this lady know that we don’t???”
Then she said a most clarifying phrase: “I’m sure your kids miss Gramma a lot…”
Ooooh… she was talking about Gramma dying, not Alice. Well, that explains a lot. It really was cool that she cared enough about our family to help us through a situation unrelated to Alice’s condition, but it was confusing there for a minute, and not a little strenuous on the old heart!
After that things began to be a little better. Dr. Tammie came shortly thereafter to take a look at Alice and said essentially, “I’m not worried about the tumor. This is from swelling from the radiation. We’ll bump her steroids back up and this will take care of it.” Okay, we can handle that. We did, and the steroids did.

The week wasn’t all stress and death. When we arrived at church on Sunday, one of our friends came up and said, “My Dad is flying in today, and wanted to know if you wanted to take a ride.” When I hear “flying in,” I think in terms of TSA, extra costs for luggage, and little packages of peanuts. But in this case, her Dad, Don Lillienthal, is a pilot, and wanted to know if Alice wanted to take a ride in his Cessna, the “Ford Station Wagon of planes, as he described it to me.
We went for it. Jojo wanted to come along too, so he rode in the backseat and Alice sat on my lap. It was great. I wasn’t sure how Alice would respond, but she loved every minute of it. We flew to our house, and as we got there, we watched Shelly and the other girls turn into the driveway, and as we circled around, Emily got out and did a huge wave for us. Alice loved that.
Someone came from Memorial Drive Bible Fellowship up in Askov to deliver an unbelievable load of food and a huge gift of money. We were almost dumbfounded… again. We can’t believe the generosity of God’s people – to us, of all people, and the least deserving of any kindness! It’s like living in a totally different life these days, and we’re still trying to figure out how to live it.
Sometimes it seems like we have a different Alice every week. They’re little things we notice, but they are “things.” Before radiation, and maybe for her first week of it, her drawings were of “houses,” which consisted mostly of drawing connecting squares and lines. Then she went into a stage where she just colored large, monotone blobs. This week she’s taken to doing coloring pages, using multiple colors, and makes some attempt to stay within the lines.
And things are different at the hospital too. When we started, she’d be asleep for 3-4 minutes after getting back to the room. Then it was more like 10 or 15 minutes. This morning she was awake and smiling when they brought her into the room! That was a first, and fun to see.
Three days this week as she was being put to sleep, and I saw the meds going in and gave her a squeeze and whispered in her ear, “I love you, have a good nap, I’ll see you soon!” she asked, so cheerfully, “Daddy?” and promptly fell asleep. Oh, how I wish I could have heard her finish the question! Brad said “she smiles so big when she does that!”
Speaking of Brad, today was his last day treating Alice. He’s off next week. I’m pretty sure there was a tremor in his voice as he said to me, “My family and I are praying for you.” We hugged there in front of the radiation machine, Alice asleep on the table, and I thanked him for taking such good care of my little girl, and walked back upstairs. He’s been so great, so friendly, and we have fun visits together every morning. I’m going to miss him.

It now feels like we have friends at the hospital. Some of the nurses just stop in Alice’s room to say hi now. Martha is our favorite anesthesiology nurse, and whether or not she’s assigned to Alice, she comes in to say hi and visit. She’s so great. The other nurses do the same. Apparently there’s a bit of a competition going to get assigned to care for Alice. She’s won the hearts of the sedation unit. Not hard to believe, but still fun to hear. Amy told me today, “You guys have quite a fan club here.” Somehow everywhere we turn, we’re blessed with love and support.
We’d love to rest tomorrow, but we’re off for Gramma’s funeral after breakfast. We pray the gospel goes forth with power and clarity, for that would be Gramma’s greatest joy and a most fitting tribute to a life well lived.
Well, this has been long enough. Thank you for your prayers, for your kind comments which are always so treasured and uplifting to our hearts, and for the kind love and affection shown to us, by friends, family, and strangers alike. When we begin to feel we have been cursed, we can’t help but be overwhelmed by how deeply we are blessed.
I leave you with a gift of my own. Technically it’s the fulfillment of a promise I made last week, and maybe a reward for reading this far. Sunday night I knelt by Alice’s bed just after she crawled in. I asked if she wanted to say “The Lord is my Shepherd,” set my phone beside her with the recorder going, and here it is. For us, it’s perhaps the greatest 99 seconds of audio in the world.
Thirty seconds after this was done, while I “cozied” her, wrapping her up in my arms, she fell asleep. It was great.
top photo is Alice looking out the window of the plane on Sunday
November 17, 2017 at 9:18 pm
Oh how precious you all are to us. ❤️
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November 17, 2017 at 10:00 pm
Thank you for sharing with us a peek into your week! What a treasure it was to hear Alice say Psalm 23!❤ Thank you!!
Continued prayers for each of you every day! This verse has been in my mind…
Isaiah 41:10
Fear not, for I am with you, be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
And, let us know when you’re ready for a fish dinner!
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November 17, 2017 at 10:16 pm
My dear new friends, who have come to mean so much to me. I weep every week, and yet I rejoice in the fact that you retain your faith while you are able to articulate your pain and faith so well. I lost my husband, I know this is nothing compared to facing the possibility of losing your child. I believe in the miracles that God can perform. Interesting to read the previous comment which is the verse given to me when I could no longer care for Ken alone. I again share with you II Corinthians 1:3-7. I try to exercise this each day of my life. Our God is indeed a great comforter, shares our burdens , and enables us to comfort others. Much love to your whole family
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November 17, 2017 at 10:45 pm
Joe, you left me in tears again. God’s endless Grace to your family.
Jim Kastenbauer
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November 17, 2017 at 11:25 pm
My heart hurts for you all and at the same time rejoices knowing your great faith in our great God. I really lost it hearing the voice of your precious Alice saying Psalm 23. Surely goodness and mercy will follow you all of your lives… I pray.
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November 17, 2017 at 11:25 pm
Thank you so much for sharing such a special family moment you had with Alice saying Psalm 23. That was precious beyond words! Mark and I are praying for all of you every day as well as the sweet people of Bethany Bible in Big Lake.
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November 17, 2017 at 11:31 pm
Joe, We read your blog each week and don’t know how you can put your words together so that we cry, but also shout Halelulia, our God still reigns and is in control. We have our church of RV’s all praying for you as well here in AZ and pray for your entire family going through this together. I don’t think I could be as strong as you, so we ask his blessing on your entire family.
Gene & Shirley Nelson
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November 18, 2017 at 12:05 am
Jerry has kept so many of your sermons in hard copy and we have loved you guys from the time God brought you all to us. You blessed us then for 2 yrs or so and even in your grief, God allows you to bless volumes to many! I love how you all recite Psalm 23 nightly, what a wonderful family habit of grace. Though we don’t see you, we feel as though you guys are still with us. We rejoice in your joy and grieve with you in your sorrows. So thank you for sharing so sweetly and personally (as though we didn’t miss a beat). And through it all, and most importantly of all, we bring your family to the feet of Jesus Whom we can trust with all things and know He cares and loves completely! We know we can trust Him, for He is our Peace and the One who holds each of us who call Him Father, Lord and Savior! May His pinions cover you all this day!
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November 18, 2017 at 12:29 am
Praying for you all in Idaho.
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November 18, 2017 at 8:30 am
Your sweetness is overwelming, as my tears flow while I read. God grace is the best.
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November 18, 2017 at 8:50 am
Thank you so much for your weekly blogs. God’s love and comfort is so evident in your words and in the life of your family. You are going through so many hard things but yet God is right there every step of the way. LOVED LOVED LOVED hearing Psalm 23 (with tears of course) but so sweet.I can totally understand why she is a favorite at the hospital. Continued daily prayers for all of you.
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November 18, 2017 at 9:35 am
Dear Reed Family,
Your precious Alice and the whole family are so often in our prayers.
Love,
Olin and Jenny
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November 18, 2017 at 10:12 am
Thanks again for sharing. Listening to Alice reciting the 23rd Psalm was beyond precious. We all enter into your experiences in a small way and your journey is having a very powerful impact on our life in Christ. May our gracious , faithful Lord continue to uphold, strengthen and comfort you. Thank you.
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November 18, 2017 at 10:41 am
A humble thank you for keeping us informed, Joe. We haave not forgotten you, Shelly, Alice, or the restof the family. Clearly, God is with you through all of this. And, are you still caring for a church as well as for your business?
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November 18, 2017 at 11:59 am
Dear folks, having had 2 children with cancer, my heart goes out to you. I love your thoughts, your expression of doubts with total faith still in tact. I can see God’s love and support so working in your lives just as HE did mine so many years ago. HE will carry you through this. With Love, Paul Walker’s step mom, Barb Walker
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November 18, 2017 at 1:09 pm
You know, even if you guys are cried out, there are plenty of us with tears flowing after reading your posts. Thank you for that beautiful gift of hearing Alice say Psalm 23. Her sweet little voice is a treasure as is the rest of her beautiful being. We continue to pray everyday that God will let you keep Alice. We hope you have a really great week coming up with the end of radiation and Thanksgiving- you’re always in our prayers. Love, Ken and Nikki
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November 18, 2017 at 1:52 pm
Once again thank you for sharing your heart, and lives with so many.. I hope you know how incredibly you are ministering to others through these posts. My heart just breaks for you as a parent,, and the recording of Alices reciting Psalm 23 just broke me. My prayers and heart are with you all each day. May you know the Lords mercies each and every second of every day. love and prayer Jamie
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November 18, 2017 at 2:45 pm
😭that audio! Beautiful!
Praying for you.
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November 18, 2017 at 5:22 pm
We love you my friend.
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November 18, 2017 at 7:04 pm
Around the firepit on this cool evening in SC…my grandson was asking me a question while I was reading Alices Story and Your Journey…I told him about Alice and just enough information to settle his curiosity…He only asked me one question; “Is Alice Heaven Sick Nanny?” Colin has Autism and sees things much clearer and simpler than I…Alices sweet little voice, absent of any doubt in God at all, somehow lets me know everything really is gonna be ok…no matter what…it going to be alright…love from around the fire and sticky fingers from S’mores!
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November 18, 2017 at 8:55 pm
I will take a look when I get a chance.
Jared
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November 18, 2017 at 9:23 pm
That little yawn at the end is the best. Thanks for sharing her little voice. God, sustain our friends…
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November 19, 2017 at 11:06 am
Oh how precious to hear Psalm 23 in Alice’s own voice! What a Savior we worship who absolutely does walk us through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, along with no fear of the journey or the end of the valley.
Praying, praying still for Alice and all the family. Also praying for Grandma Helme’s family too. Praying that the Lord will be glorified in both situations.
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November 19, 2017 at 6:40 pm
Thank you so much for sharing!!!
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November 23, 2017 at 12:07 am
Pure Sweetness! ❤️
I’m not sure which I liked better, the yawn or “come cozy me “.
Extra hugs 💓💓
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November 27, 2017 at 7:56 pm
Alice’s reciting of Psalm 23 brought tears to my eyes. Your little girl is a spiritual treasure. I can feel her trust in Jesus coming forth as she speaks His Word. If someone did not know Jesus, your testimony would certainly convict them of God’s grace working in a family’s lives.I want God to heal Alice so much! I am praying for all of you.
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January 11, 2018 at 9:27 pm
You don’t know me, but will look forward to us all meeting each other in heaven one day. What a joy it is to be a part of such a big family in Jesus! I have a three and a half year old daughter named Aurora, and so your story hits me very personally. I am glad I got connected to your family through the blog on reviveourhearts, and I will be praying for all of you as God brings you to mind. Much love to Alice and each of you. Thank you for your faith and shining brightly for our Eternal Father in the midst of this deep trial. In Him, Heather
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June 12, 2018 at 12:44 am
Thank you for this gift. The yawn and the “cozy me” did me in. My hard heart was softened if only for a minute. Please know that I am with you even as you do not know me.
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July 28, 2019 at 10:40 pm
Dear Joe Reed. We are a missionary family, serving in Japan, and we have just gone through all the same stages and thoughts, struggles, as our little granddaughter Julia suffered from DIPG. She went to be with the Lord this month, on the 7th of July, five years old . Cindy Gunderson in Mora sent my daughter your book, and we have all been reading it, nodding our heads and crying……. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and struggles!I hope Alice and Julia are having a wonderful time in the Palace, even though we have to wade through wawes of sorrow and missing her…..
PS Cindy is my husband’s cousin’s wife(!)
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July 29, 2019 at 1:42 pm
Dear Inge,
Thank you for reaching out. My heart breaks with and for you. I’m so sorry you have been given to walk this wretched road with your beloved Julia, though I know that the God you faithfully serve will give you, even if not immediately, great hope and trust in Him through Christ.
Death separates little ones from those they love, but as you indicate, it joins them with others, and this picture of those two little ones hand in hand strolling about a place of blissful immortality brings joy to my heart. And no doubt they are anxiously awaiting our arrival and reunion almost as much as we are (Rev. 6:9-11).
Tonight we sorrow; joy comes in the morning. God help you endure till the Sunrise!
joe
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