It’s a new year.
Time for new beginnings. In 2025, I started with good health, opportunities, yoga, puzzles, and focused writing—foundational joys that set a positive tone for the year.
It wasn’t until midway through 2025, about June, when life began cracking my foundation, bringing with it a flood of unrest, confusion, betrayal, and hurt.
My January scans showed the five brain tumors had shrunk to the point where Dr. Pollack actually anticipated releasing me into the care of local doctors — a gamma knife success story. Almost.
In November, Wilbur the Tumor showed up on an MRI. A cause for concern and another scheduled trip to Rochester, Minn.
In April, I traveled to Washington, D.C., to advocate for the NIH, CDC, and Medicaid. It is imperative to people like me that cancer research continues. With AI assistance, I am counting on a medicine that will either eradicate cancer cells completely or at least hold them in check for a considerable period.
D.C., and American Lung Association folks, was an eye-opening, satisfying, and hopefully helpful adventure.
Rather than doing full-time farmers markets, I focused on strengthening my worn-out body and working on my three or four book projects. All the while, anticipating my mission trip in August.
It was an honor to be part of the mission team that went to Estonia to conduct an adult Bible study at the Home of Hope. We also learned about the difficult and very scary story of Harri Hammer, the founding pastor of the Tartu Academy of Theology (TAT), during his incarceration by the Soviets during the occupation.
We had several Zoom meetings as a team to prepare for our week of new friends, good food, spiritual growth, and learning about the history of this country, a mere 30 kilometers from Russia.
I am most shocked by the fact that the Russian occupation was a mere 30 years in the past. The wonderful Estonian people still carry fear and anxiety about their religious affiliations underneath their warm and friendly greetings.
Before the spiritual experience of a lifetime overseas, my home life was disrupted by deception in the works since my diagnosis three years ago.
The last six months of 2025 were overwhelming as I approached my seventh decade birthday.
Without boring you with details, the experience has provided me with an opportunity to reinvent my life. I’m not there yet, but 2026 means the end of the farm business, a new place to live, and life on my own.
I will have an MRI of my brain on January 21 at Mayo Clinic. With all the turmoil in my life, I have complete faith that God has eliminated “Tumor Wilbur Fred” from my brain. (But, it doesn’t hurt to keep praying him away.)
Next, I have been asked to present at an extension gathering in Steele on February 4. These opportunities honor me as someone who has a gift to share while providing some extra income. I’m very excited to be speaking publicly again.
Then comes March, and back to Washington, D.C., for more advocacy work and volunteer development with the ALA. This is an integral part of my cancer recovery. No one truly understands better the underlying, unseen terror that resides in your heart when diagnosed with Stage IV cancer. Except for other survivors.
I tried to convince someone that we should be called “cancer thrivers” instead of survivors. At least until we attend that final office call. You know, the one where someone says, “There’s nothing more we can do.”
So, let’s thrive while we can.
The first two months of this year, I am working on reorganizing my book projects, blog, and Sowin’ Circle newsletter. You can expect an invitation before my birthday in March to join me on this new adventure.
Meanwhile, I am forced to continue to death clean my belongings with the underlying purpose of keeping my fiber studio intact while giving up the farm. Yes, it breaks my heart and causes my eyes to water and my throat to close up. But I have no choice.
Herein lies the true test of faith. I feel like one day my new surroundings will be my old-age dream. (It’s in writing and I will share it in the context of my upcoming platform change). Right now, my options seem limited.
Everyone holds on to the truth that my dream is small and my resources abundant compared to what God has planned for me. I pray they are right.
Happy New Year 2026. I look forward to another cancer-stable year and the new life God promised in John 10:10: “The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life.”
God’s promise of a new life for me, at this age, couldn’t come soon enough.
INDYchildrendotme 
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