“Should I tell like… the whole story?”
Shea and her husband, Jamie, exchange a shrug, a giggle, and a knowing look, and Shea turns back to me. “How much time do you have?”
Cozy on the couch in their adorable farmhouse and listening to Johanna and Josiah playing with toy cars on the floor, I feel like I have all the time in the world. I’m ready for the story.
“Johanna is adopted,” Shea tells me. “When she was born, we were in no way, shape, or form looking to adopt. We were not on a list. We didn’t even know how to get on a list.”
I am probably visibly confused, but Shea continues to explain. “The day Johanna was born, I got a call from a friend, and she told me, ‘there’s a baby at the hospital who needs some parents. Do you want to come get her?’” Shea and Jamie talked it over and quickly decided they were up for it. “So Johanna was born at 8:35, and I was nursing her at 12:30.” Yes, that’s right, Shea was nursing Johanna. She had not felt the time was right to quit nursing Josiah yet, even though he was over 2 years old. And because of her unexplainable resistance to quit nursing, she was able to start nursing Johanna within hours of her birth.
Through a divine series of events, Johanna ended up in Shea, Jamie, and Josiah’s home on September 26, 2015. And she fit there perfectly. That was that. Through tears, and with unmatched conviction, Shea tells me, “I have no doubt in my mind that when Johanna was knit together in another woman’s womb, God knew that I was her mother, and he was preparing my body for her arrival. Johanna is an exceptional miracle from the beginning.”
If you’re not crying yet, just wait.
“Johanna is an exceptional miracle from the beginning.”
Fast forward just eighteen short months, and Johanna started running a fever out of the blue. “I thought she was teething,” Shea tells me. They had spent an amazing day out picking strawberries, simply enjoying being together and being outside, and the fever kind of came and went. The next day, the fever came on really strong, and Shea could tell something was just not right.
After a series of inconclusive tests performed on a lifeless Johanna at her pediatrician’s office, the doctor looked straight at Shea and said, "I don’t have anything to tell you, but as a mother, I would not go anywhere else, except to Children’s, if I were you. Like now.”
So on they went to Children’s Hospital. ER visit. Overnight stay. Antibiotics. Blood transfusions. More tests. Fear.
The next day, Johanna’s family received the news that flipped their world upside-down.
“It’s one of those weird things,” Shea says, though I don’t actually find this weird at all. “I remember that it was exactly 3:00 when they came in to talk to us because I looked at the clock over Dr. Wadhwa’s shoulder as he was telling me that Johanna had leukemia. And I’ll never forget it. I can remember how it smelled, I can remember what he was wearing, what the fellow beside him was wearing… Everything. It felt like everything fell out from under us, and we were falling.”
We sit and talk for another hour. The kids eventually decide our conversation is boring, and they migrate to the playroom, but Shea and Jamie continue telling me about the experiences they gained, the people they lost, and the lessons they learned during their journey with Johanna’s cancer.
Shea has gone back to the day spent picking strawberries in her mind many times since Johanna’s diagnosis. It’s the last time they spent time together enjoying their “normal” life before cancer. Shea and Jamie wanted to experience that again while Johanna was in treatment by visiting a pumpkin patch, but Johanna’s immune system was not strong enough to be around the crowds. They decided, instead of just being sad about it, they were going to create a pumpkin patch themselves, and they were going to provide that experience for other families whose children were fighting cancer.
Johanna’s family obviously had a whirlwind of a year after her diagnosis. From cancer, to spending Johanna’s second birthday at the hospital getting chemo, to finding mold in their home, being evacuated, and moving, they were beyond overwhelmed, but the dream stayed alive.
“So last October,” Shea continues, “Jamie and I were talking, and he asked, ‘What should we do? Should we wait another year?’ And I said, ‘No! We’re going to buy pumpkins.’” And that’s what they did. “We may not have anything else here, but this is what we came here to do. This is what we are here for.” JoJo Farms started as nothing more than a field with some pumpkins and mums, cinnamon rolls, and a lemonade stand manned by Josiah and Johanna. But it’s grown into a ministry and service beyond what Shea and Jamie could have ever anticipated.
JoJo Farms has committed to reserve opening day each season for families fighting cancer. And if families can’t attend on that day, they’ll be accommodated on other days. They’ll work around suppressed immune systems, cancellations due to hospitalizations, and all of the unpleasant surprises that accompany cancer treatments. Because Shea and Jamie want to provide joy, peace, and a little bit of “normal” for families in the midst of their storms.
“It’s okay to say, ‘this is crappy, and I don’t like it, and I don’t wanna be here,’” Shea tells me. And she is so right. “But through all of that, there’s still purpose, and there’s still hope, and there’s still a way for you to serve people.”
“There’s still purpose, and there’s still hope, and there’s still a way for you to serve people.”
Johanna is finished with treatment. The day that once seemed to be an eternity away eventually arrived, when Johanna got her last dose of chemo and went home. She just turned 4, and JoJo Farms is in the middle of its second pumpkin patch season.
“We want to give back in a tangible way,” Shea says. I can’t help but think, you have no idea how much you already are doing that! They don’t know all the details yet of how they want to grow and develop JoJo Farms yet, but personally I think they’re on a pretty good path.
Cancer is ugly. It’s evil, it’s relentless, and it’s devastating. But to see such a sweet family cling to their faith and pursue their passion to serve in the middle of their battle lifts my spirit and fills me with hope.
Johanna is a miracle, and her family is unbelievable. JoJo Farms has already touched countless lives, and I have no doubt it will continue to heal families in a way that medicine cannot— by providing joy, peace, and a little bit of “normal.”
I cannot think of a better way to spend my afternoon than with Johanna, Josiah, Shea, and Jamie. We explore the pumpkin patch for family photos, we play together on the floor of their playroom, and we connect over a bond that nobody wants to share— cancer. They have served others selflessly in the midst of their own storm, and I am thankful to know them. I will do anything to end childhood cancer because Johanna is worth it.
Until there’s a cure,
Kayla
