When I was five my parents flew me and my cousin Greg to visit our Nana & Papa...by ourselves! I can remember them sitting me down before our grand adventure, of a 20 minute flight, to tell me "Janet, we're doing this so that you can have fun, but mostly we're doing it so that if God ever calls you to go far away, you won't be afraid to go." I am quite certain that I didn't comprehend the formative nature of this until I was older...let's be honest...until I was well into my 30s. But even in the absence of apprehension I somehow learned the lesson. I've spent my a lot of my life looking for the next adventure.

At the end of Apil I had the chance to go to Malaysia for work. It takes a very long time to get from Chicago to Kuala Lumpur. And I have to admit that I was pretty cocky about my ability to adapt to the culture. Then it happened.

After almost 20 hours of flights and an eight-hour layover I told my colleague that I had to use the restroom. As I opened the door to the first stall, this is what I encountered.

Yes. This is what I found. And honestly, the thought that went through my head was, 'I have no idea how to navigate this!' In that moment, I got, in an in-my-gut sort of way, that travel in foreign lands is both wonderfully exciting and challenging and incomprehensible and awkward and beautiful and sometimes terrifying all at once.

Days before I left for Malaysia we found out that my youngest brother Steve's cancer has metastisized again. This time to his pelvis, to his bone. I am beginning to think that travel in this sort of foreign land is even more of a paradox. My 34 year old brother is fighting his second round of Stage IV colorectal cancer.

It's strange. We've been through this before. Surgeries. Chemotherapy. Waiting for scans. We've been through this before...sort of. It feels a bit like I've encountered another hole-in-the-ground toilet. I know what it is. I know how it works. I even sort of know how to use it. But the actual execution leaves me feeling ill-equipped.

I've experienced my family draw closer over these last six years that my brother has danced with cancer. I am more authentic and vulnerable and human now. I have experienced the kindness and love and prayers of people who didn't have to offer any of that. I wrote awhile ago about my encounter with both/and, that things aren't one or the other they are miraculous and heart-breaking, and scary and exciting all at once. Travel in this foreign land of cancer and loved ones and the possibility of miracles and awfulness leaves me sort of wishing for a hole in the ground toilet!