grace for them

 


So I was feeling a little down today.  I am recovering from my last chemo session, but it wasn’t about that.  Do you ever go on Facebook and see something that someone has posted that either isn’t very nice or comes across as passive aggressive?  And there is this little dirty, mean, self-hating part of you that thinks it might be about you?  Maybe once, years ago, someone suggested that you might be a little selfish or a little controlling or a little arrogant or a little bit of a failure.  And then, long after, you see this post about how horrible selfish or controlling people are, and you wonder if they are talking about you?  Most of the time, I scroll right past that stuff without a second thought.  But now and again, that ugly little part of myself takes pause and wonders.  And worries.

I feel misunderstood sometimes.  I think sometimes my directness, confidence and drive to get things done steer me into this category that some people just don’t know what to do with.  Lots of people enjoy these aspects of my personality and respect them a lot of the time.  But sometimes, my drive, my passion, my unrelenting certainty presses against someone else’s insecurities and it just pushes their buttons in the worst way.  I inadvertently become a villain.  And it always mystifies me.  I think I’m encouraging someone and it comes across as pushy and self righteous.  I think I’m showing someone an important truth and they characterize me as having an agenda.  I think I’m listening carefully and they think I don’t care.

So I saw this annoying thing on Facebook, and the story I made up in my head was that it was about me.  And I saw who “liked” it, and it felt like a chapter out of Mean Girls.  And my first response was that I was hurt.  And my immediate follow up response was all of the reasons why these people mean nothing to me and do not get to hurt me, because they are nasty jerks who are so insecure they have to post these little thinly cloaked insults that they aren’t brave enough to say outright.  And my next response was frustration.  Being misinterpreted is just the worst.  And I sat in that misunderstood feeling for a while.

And then I went to my bookshelf to find a book to start, to take my mind off of this crap.  And a great book that I deeply love, Walking with God through Pain and Suffering by Tim Keller literally fell out of the bookshelf, fell open and a greeting card skidded across the floor.  It was a card from a good friend and coworker.  And if ever there was a physical piece of evidence that some human in this world understands me and knows where I’m coming from, it was this card.  I read it.  It made me cry because it was so, so, so needed right then.  The printed, sentimental words that the card makers published, and the messy handwriting, scrawling across every blank square inch of the card – words that comforted and healed.  Words that reflected that sometimes my very best self does come across and is accepted and acknowledged and appreciated.

I’m misunderstood sometimes.  By some people.  And other times I am perfectly understood.  By some people.  That’s the reality  And that’s ok.  I don’t need to be understood by everyone all of the time.  I’m not here to make everyone happy or make everyone feel perfectly at ease and comfortable.  I’m here to be me.  I’m here to be Jessi in all the wholeness and fullness with which God has created me.  Some of me is messed up and still a work in progress.  Some of me is perfectly effective and functioning exactly as I should.  Some of me is half formed and half baked and half torn apart.  Some of me is healing.  Some of me is growing.  And it’s ok if it comes out wrong sometimes.  That’s what grace is for.  And if you don’t have any grace for me today, that’s ok.  Because God’s got plenty.  And sometimes He doles it out in the form of a 6 month old greeting card.  

Pretty much, we’re all doing just about the best we can.  At least, most of us are.  At least, the people that deserve to matter to us are.  Keep doing the best you can.  I will, too. Because even if that post is “about us,” it’s not actually about us.  It’s about whatever broken, half baked piece of that person is dripping out today.  And we can be better than that.  We can have grace for them.         

God shows up.

Sometimes, I look up to the sky and wonder if all that I believe about who God is is true. Some days He feels far away. Some days, I think how much I operate from the foundation of my faith and how crazy it would be if none of it was true.  Almost like a mental illness. Like if I lived my life believing I could fly if I wanted to. Or that I could see things that other people didn’t see. I am sure that atheists think this about we crazy Christians. If I wasn’t a Christian, I would definitely think the Christians were crazy.  Well, actually there are plenty of people who call themselves Christians who are certifiably crazy. 

But sometimes, God shows up in such undeniable ways, it makes me sure. Like totally 100% sure. Let me share two things with you.

Early this morning I got an email from a lifelong friend. A woman who I’ve known my entire life. She shared a recent email I wrote with people from her church.  The email was an update about my situation and some general thoughts about how I am grateful and confident in God.  She had gotten a response to the email from someone active in youth ministry. Apparently the topic of cancer had come up recently and she was struggling to talk to young teenagers about cancer through the lens of faith.  My email really touched her heart and gave her a new place to start the conversation from. It was just what she needed to read and she wondered if she could share it.  

That energizes me so much and makes me really excited for how God is using this terrible situation to encourage and comfort others.

That was a great way to start the day. But it gets even better.

Later this morning I saw a lovely woman at Cassidy’s soccer game who has a shaved head. 


It seemed fairly clear to me that she probably was in cancer treatment. However, you don’t want to assume. And you also don’t want to invade someone’s privacy. But although I’ve seen her twice before, I could not shake the feeling that I should talk to her today.  What a weird thing to do, but I knew I had to.  

I walked up to her and I said “hi. Sorry if this is weird, but I have cancer. I’m starting to lose my hair and may have to shave it.  I noticed that you are rocking that look really well so I thought I’d ask you about it.” 

She beamed a gorgeous, friendly smile at me (whew!) and told me she had breast cancer.  We started chatting.  

After a few minutes she asked my name and said “I just read this blog post that reminds me of this…”

I told her that I have a blog. She asked me if I knew someone named Katy Ursta. (I just blogged about my friend, Katy.)  I started laughing and said “I’m lemonscarlet.”

She got tears in her eyes and said “I have chills.” She told me that she had just had three different people send her a link to my blog and she finally read it last night. She said she was too tired to do it then, but that she had planned to message both me and Katy on Facebook because she was so inspired by it.  She couldn’t believe that I just walked right up to her that morning.

I mean, what are the chances?!  We both felt like it was from God.  I know I was incredibly encouraged by this.  I hope to continue to get to know her.  As you pray for me, pray for Jennifer, too.  She’s almost done with chemo and has four active kiddos to chase around the soccer fields.  

God is good, my friends.  


Eucharisteo

So I’m reading this book on being thankful.  I was led down this path two ways.  One is that the magnificent Tim Keller mentions being thankful as part of the way you respond to adversity in an effective, Christ-like way. Ever since I read that in his book Walking with God through Pain and Suffering, it has stuck with me. Thanking God even when things are not going well. Being thankful in the midst of scary and painful circumstances. How can this be what He expects of us?

Then, Lisa Slayton, my trusty mentor, gave me a very interesting book – it is called One Thousand Gifts.
The author is an interesting person. She writes with peculiar cadence and word choices. She is a farmer, or maybe more accurately a farmer’s wife and mother of six kiddos, and writes like she has at least a PhD. Maybe she does. But her simple life and complex thoughts are unexpectedly divine.  I’ve seen a clip of her speaking, and she dresses and talks like an NYC poet. Such an interesting woman!  Ann Voskamp.
Early in life, she and her family experience the most horrific of tragedies. Her young sister was very accidentally killed by an oncoming delivery truck driver. They all saw it happen. Devastating. Tragic. Gruesome.
When you go through something like that, you pretty much either shut down, cross your arms and turn away from God. Or you run toward him desperately, knowing that He is the only possible thing that could ever make you in anyway OK again.
She initially chose the former, quietly, humbly.  Confused, desperately disappointed.  She continued church going but closed off part of herself.  She settled into a longtime depression of sorts.  She didn’t become an atheist or anything – she just stopped trusting God and stopped being engaged with Him.
The book talks about how she came across this idea of Eucharisteo, the table of Thanksgiving.  As long as there is grace, thanks is possible, and so joy is possible.  She met someone who was thankful IN ALL CIRCUMSTANCES (and he’d been through some doozies.)
She knows how Jesus thanks God before he asks him to do stuff. She notes that thanksgiving always precedes the miracle.
She thinks hard on this Eucharisteo.    She considers how even our saving by Christ must include gratitude.  How else could we accept the gift of salvation but with gratitude? Gratitude is the evidence and manifestation of our acceptance of his extended grace.
So she begins the list. A list of things she is thankful for. Little things, big things. God’s grace and the beauty of morning sunlight.  Her husband’s embrace.  Her children’s bare feet.  Apparently there is a workbook that goes along with this book. I don’t have it. But I got the idea that I should probably start making a list, too. The title of the book is One Thousand Gifts. So I guess that is what we’re shooting for, here. So far, I’m up to about 200. I forget things that should be obvious. I think I’ve written down some already, and realize I haven’t. I’ve written some things twice, I think. But here is the list I have so far. Many of you reading this will find your names on it. And if you don’t, it’s probably because my brain is addled from chemo and pain medication.  it’s far from complete, so your name may well be popping up soon.
I’m only about a third of the way through the book. And I have not magically transformed into a naturally thankful person. But I do find myself taking note of blessings that I took for granted before. Little things that people do or that spring up before me, source unknown.  I’m more aware, and more willing to give thanks even if I am not feeling especially thankful. Sometimes, the very act of thanking prompts those feelings of gratitude. There is some special magic in that. I don’t have it all figured it out. But I think I’m on the right track.

Holy suffering, Batman!

So, the past week? 
That sucked.  Really. 
First, we had Monday, the day of infusion.  I tend to feel great when I go to the clinic
because it’s been a while since they filled me with poison.  So I show up optimistic, energized, ready to
go.  The infusion was fine. 
For those not familiar with how the process works, I’ll give
you a quick run down.  I have a medi-port
device, named Portia, that is installed in my chest.  It is accessed by a big scary needle and
fluids can be administered through it and blood can be taken from
it.  It’s pretty nifty and saves you from
ruining your arm veins.  Upon arrival, I
am weighed, and vitals are taken.  I am
weighed each time because the volume of chemo you are given is based on your
weight.  Blood is taken and a couple of
quick tests are done while I am administered pre-meds – steroids, hydrating
fluids and anti-nausea medication.  This
takes about an hour.  Then I am hooked up
to Oxaliplatin and Vectabix, two chemo drugs that are given over several
hours.  At the end of that, I am given a
bolus (injection) of 5-FU (yes, it’s really called that) and then hooked up to
the Wonder Woman Power Pack (aka Fanny) that I wear home.  This contains more 5-FU which is pumped into me for 48 hours.        
During this time, at the cancer center, I visited with nurses I know, showed off
my latest Wonder Woman accessories, read, rested, watched funny YouTube videos.  I even did a conference call with my staff
via FaceTime.  Ah, technology.  After, Kevin and I had lunch at Panera, stopped at Old Navy to
buy some new “visiting jammies”  (it’s
important to have decent lounge-wear when people stop by often as people do
when one is ill.)  I went home, took it
easy, did a little catching up on work and felt mostly ok. 
Wobbly, but ok.  Wobbly is the
name I give to the feeling that sets in once chemo has been administered but
hasn’t yet unleashed its fury.   You feel like something is off, your brain isn’t
sharp, you feel slightly queasy and a little tired.  The next day and a half, I was mostly getting used
to lugging that fanny pack around. 
Tired, uncomfortable.  Then the
heartburn of an angry dragon set in.  This was a
new sensation – burning from my belly, literally up to my ears.  I looked it up and that’s a thing – burning all
the way up into your Eustachian tubes. 
Ugh. 
Wednesday I got unhooked from the Power Pack and was
administered more anti-nausea meds and a prescription for heavy duty heartburn
medication.  The heartburn
persisted.  I dragged myself into work on Thursday to attend our Day of Hope picnic.  Familiar faces and an event celebrating God
on the North Shore lifted my spirits even though I felt pretty low,
physically.  I felt like I was literally dragging myself around,
wondering if people could tell how I was only about 50% sure I wouldn’t vomit
right there in front of the crowd.  A
homeless man spoke to me as I passed by and said “Ma’am, you look like a
princess.”  I looked around to see if he was really talking to me, and when I confirmed that, I smiled and said to him very genuinely “Sir,
you have just made my day.” 
I came home and made dinner and the efforts of the day just wore me down.  Just as we sat down together, I got so sick I couldn’t eat it.  What a shame!  I had three bites of a delicious meal and my body just shut down.  This was very discouraging.  I went to bed and barely saw my family that day.  Emotionally, this was the hardest day.  Your little girl just wants to tell you about her day and you have no choice but to be alone in a dark room and just get through it.  Your exhausted husband has worked all day and now has to handle every aspect of the evening – clean up the kitchen, bath, math practice, lunches for the next day.  This is when sadness and “it’s not fair!” threatens to take hold of me.    
Friday, I’d agreed to attend an important meeting.  I truly relied on God to get me there,
through the meeting and home.  I was glad
I went, and so grateful to get home, put my non-visiting jammies on and just
settle into a weekend of rest. 
Unfortunately, Saturday, the heartburn upped its game.  My insides felt on fire.  Nothing touched it – believe me, I’ve tried
everything from prescription meds to kimchi (which is delicious, btw!) so save
your well intentioned “Have you tried ginger tea?” for someone who has
heartburn because they ate too much Vincent’s pizza.  This is the chemically induced destruction of
the upper portion of the digestive system. 
My doc is on the case, so we’ll hopefully figure it out, but mint leaves
and popcicles aren’t going to tame this dragon, my friends. 
Sunday, let’s just say I spent more time in the bathroom
than I did for my past two colonoscopy preps combined.  Man, I don’t know what hell was unleashed on
my tummy, but you could audibly hear it churning from across the room.  Because I’m stubborn and crazy, we decided to
go to the Science Center anyway.  I can
tell you where every bathroom on every floor is.  My apologies to anyone who was there Sunday.  We came home and I laid in agony while
watching The Devil Wears Prada.  I want
to be Meryl Streep in 30 years.  Or be
neighbors with her.  We would visit over
chai tea and talk about the most wonderful things, I just know it. 
The weekend was really miserable.  Many times I lifted my eyes heavenward and
said “A little help, here?”  No specific
answer came – just the truth that only what is needed is what comes and that
which is not needed stays away.  This is
needed.  Don’t know why.  But I don’t need to know.  To say we need to know is to say we know
better than our creator, and that just doesn’t make sense to me.  He knows. 
He has set me upon this path and is deeply aware of every
experience.  He uses all for my good.  So be it, and may I be grateful
throughout. 

Today, Monday.  I am a
new woman.  The storm has quieted.  The fire in my belly has reduced to a
smolder.  I am so thankful to be mostly
restored.  And I am grateful to be able
to say I leaned in to the Lord in search of wisdom and comfort, not away in
despondent bitterness.  As John Newton
says, (something to the effect of) if we’re going to the throne of grace where sits the King of Kings, the
Father of all creation,  in search of
comfort and relief and we aren’t getting it, we certainly aren’t going to get
it from staying away.                  

The NEW new Normal

When I started this blog, my first entry was titled The New Normal

I felt it was necessary to acknowledge and even declare that we were in a new situation – that life as we knew it was a thing of the past and we were in a brand new chapter. Well, here we are again. While I won’t feel comfortable saying I’m “in remission” until my scan in a couple weeks, let’s just assume that I am and that is the new state of affairs. No longer a cancer patient, no longer a cancer warrior actively fighting cancer – but rather a cancer SURVIVOR.

In some ways, this new era is trickier than the previous one. On one hand, you want to shout from the rooftops ” I BEAT CANCER!” and “GOD HEALED ME!” and “YOUR PRAYERS WORKED!” and “MODERN MEDICINE IS A MIRACLE!” and “MY DOCTORS ROCK!” And on the other, you want to whisper “but it might come back.” When you’re battling cancer, you’re a street fighter – you’ve got your enemy right in front of you where you can punch it square in the face – you KNOW what the problem is and where it is. You can see it. It’s big and bad and ugly and it scares you, but you have a target to hit. In remission, you are tempted to see yourself moreso as walking through the streets at night with a hoodie pulled down over your face, ducking your head and nervously glancing over your shoulder, flinching at every skittering leaf and alley cat.

I don’t want to be that. So I’m not going to. And this blog is now going to be the story of how I figure out how. How do I parent and work and be a wife and a friend and daughter and mentor and mentee and human SURVIVOR that is vigilant and responsible about my ongoing health, without living each day terrified of it coming back? I’m not sure yet. But I have some ideas – and I’m taking this bull by the horns and wrestling with it. Sorry for the mixed metaphors – but that’s how it is in my head for now. Mixed.

I'm so grateful

Tomorrow is my last day of chemo pills.  Wooooo!!!!

As I reflect, I have mixed emotions.  But one thing is for sure.  I am grateful to have (had?) cancer.  It might be gone or it might not.  Either way I’m grateful.  Here are a few things I’m thankful about:

I’m more convinced than ever that what I believe about how God loves us and that those who believe in Christ have much to look forward to beyond death.  To a significant extent, I’ve confronted my mortality.  I’ve faced, to a degree, the fear of death.  It’s not easy or simple or fun.  But.  I’m deeply convinced that God works all things for our good.  We can trust Him.
People have been so good to me.  Encouraging cards.  Funny texts.  Visits.  Foot rubs.  
Thoughtful gifts:  Shoes.  Homemade hats.  Tea.  Enormous scarf.  Coffee cup holder.  Home roasted coffee.  Books.  Journals.  Beard photos.  Wine.  Flowers.  Soup.  Chapstick.  A scarf worn by a courageous cancer survivor.  Lunches out.  Coffee mug.  Wonder Woman stuff.  Organic, fresh made juices.  Pizza.  The best Mac & Cheese I ever had.  The glove I left behind.  Reusable hand warmers.  Scratch off tickets. Gorgeous earrings.  A personalized tote.  Gift cards for food so I didn’t have to cook.  Popcorn.  Stuff from Whole Foods I’d never splurge on.  Cool necklaces.  Amazing stuff from Europe.  Bath stuff.  Awesome lotion – the best I’ve ever tried!  Dinner at nice restaurants.  
Support for my 5K – 101 donors so far!!
Sage advice.  
Prayers.  Serious, earth shaking prayers. What a gift to be prayed over.  
Cancer survivors/patients reaching out and pointing me in the right direction.  Showing me the way.  
Grace, mercy and patience when I haven’t been at my best.  
Perspective.  Nothing gives you perspective like a life threatening illness. 
The chance to learn how to support people who are going through something like this.  I had no idea before.  I have been remiss.  I won’t be again if I can help it.  
Thank you, if you’ve been there for us.  If you’ve visited, cooked, cleaned, watched our child, prayed for us, checked in on us, cared for us in some way.  Kicking cancer’s ass is a team sport.  Thanks for getting me this far.

Challenging assumptions

I regularly stumble across the fact that I make a lot of assumptions and inferences.  Some are harmless enough but some are really unfair and potentially damaging.  Example: for years I assumed that a child causing a ruckus in Target had parents that were lazy and inconsiderate.  Then I had a child, lol.  And at some point prior to that, also learned about autism, sensory processing disorders and the like.  Granted, some parents of kids who act out are lazy, inconsiderate people.  But some are crazy-amazing human beings with endless love and patience.  They are better people than I am because, honestly, when my kid freaks in public my biggest concern is that people DON’T think I’m inconsiderate or lazy – not what my child’s needs are.  Those crazy amazing parents often don’t give a hoot what you think of them – they are sorry to be annoying you, but they mostly are in it for the long haul and they’re focusing on the baby steps of helping their child make his or her way in this difficult, judgy world.

Still, my assumptions abound.  I assume if you love Disney, you don’t think about the weird male/female roles they have historically promoted.  I assume that if you’ve had plastic surgery you’re a narcissist.  I assume that if you like Joel Osteen your IQ is below average.  I assume if you like the band, Nickleback you have astoundingly poor taste.  (Don’t hate me!  I know these are totally unfair!!! Except the Nickleback thing.  That’s just truth.)
But when I challenge my own thinking, I discover that I have smart, thoughtful friends who deeply enjoy Disney magic. (And I have to admit that I have had a seriously great time on my handful of Disney excursions.). I know generous, others-centered ladies who have had boob jobs.  And I just learned recently that weird, creepy Joel Osteen basically rescued one of my favorite people with hope when she was spiritually drowning.  
I still get an icky feeling when I see a Joel Osteen quote.  I still wrestle with Disney as a brand and how much I care or don’t care about what it may or may not communicate to my kid. (Brave was pretty cool, honestly.)  I still think that plastic surgery is an odd way to spend one’s money.  
But how I’m growing is that I’m learning more and more how to accept and respect the fact that just because someone comes to a different conclusion than I do – this doesn’t mean I’m necessarily seeing the issue for what it is and they’re not.  I may have some wisdom and information and perspective that is valuable.  In many cases, I could likely “win” in a debate about it.  And I might even be right.  But I’m learning to put the brakes on my tendency to take a tiny bit of data and extrapolate, drawing broad conclusions.  
Having cancer is terrible.  But it focuses my thinking – when your life is threatened by something, you start considering how you’re spending your time and brain space.  I might not have the 50 years that most 35 year olds assume they have left to grow into an old, wise, kind person.  (And actually…you might not, either – someone is going to get hit by a bus, you know?)  So, I’m truly considering how I think and act in an effort to get rid of the crap that is in the way.  And the best part?  When I beat this thing, I’ll be like an awesome 85 year old’s brain and heart in a 30-something’s body.  And I will still judge you for liking Nickleback.  

Chemo Smackdown-O-Rama-Fest: Round 1

Morning of first chemo treatment.  Most people wear sweats.  I say, intimidate Stupid Cancer with fierce style.  It’s easier for me to stay upbeat and my usual charming self when I’m looking presentable.  Leopard print all the way.

We arrived at the treatment center and got hooked up via Mort the Port to an IV of pre-meds.  (Steroids and anti-nausea stuff.)  We then met with my doc, Dr. Mehta.  He gave us good news: my cancer has NOT spread.  They hadn’t assumed it had but its good to know concretely.  Also my blood work (white blood cells, etc. were all in normal ranges.)  **These are answers to prayer.**  When God answers our prayers so clearly – its worthy of a moment of our time and consideration.  We have to pause, acknowledge, give thanks.  He does not always answer with what we are looking for – sometimes the journey is longer than the one we planned for.  But sometimes we get a simple gift like this.  I am grateful.  I give thanks that this cancer hasn’t spiraled out of control.  There is an army in my body fighting it, and it’s doing an amazing job.  I’m thankful for my surgeon who did a difficult surgery well and removed what was visible.  Thank you, Lord for all of your provisions.  

So then we got hooked up to the real stuff.  Chemo.  Oxaliplatin is the big dog of chemo drugs that I’m taking.  So into Mort the Port it went.  It took about two hours.  It was uneventful.  During that time, I read funny texts from friends, watched videos on You Tube, ate some cheese and carrots and talked to Kevin.  They have a snack bar at the center.  It’s not very healthy which I think is weird.  A poor diet does not help in the cancer battle.  But I guess with chemo patients, whatever you can get down the hatch is good.  And sometimes that is Lance brand neon orange peanut butter crackers.  Blech. I tired to imagine how I could politely suggest some organic fruit or air popped non-GMO popcorn.  But…I want them to like me.  So I’ll bring my own snacks and Kevin can eat the cupcakes.
So they also gave me my oral pills.  I have to take five in the morning and five at night.  This drug is called Xeloda.  
Kevin meticulously filled my giant pill box for me.  He will almost certainly do this for me every week.  The fact is the man is significantly more responsible than I am in such matters.  That’s why he’s the precision baker and I’m the chef with full creative license.  Recipes, schmecipes.  So Kevin is the family pharmacist.
The infusion was complete and we left.  We were both hungry so we went to Mad Mex.  a friend’s response: did you really think Mexican was the best choice immediately following chemo?  Fair question.  First of all, I got black beans and rice and tofu in a dry tortilla so it wasn’t like I got the drippy, crazy meat-filled enchiladas.  I passed on the margaritas, too.  🙂  But I really haven’t felt super nauseous.  Just a little bit queasy.  So far, eating helps.  So bring on the tofu!
What I have had in terms of side effects in the past 24 hours have been with neuropathy/very high sensitivity to cold food/beverage and touching stuff that’s colder than room temp.  
The very bad thing that happened was when I took a huge swig of iced tea before I knew what would happen.  Awful. I felt like I drank Drano.  It scared me.  I had no idea what they meant when they said “cold sensitivity.”  It was pretty horrible.  Like trying to swallow a raisin that suddenly turned into a tiny porcupine.  All scratchy and spiky out of nowhere.  Also, strong tasting things like olives, vinegar and sharp cheeses do something weird to my mouth.  It feels like biting into a giant lemon.  That “sour” reflex is in overdrive somehow.
On the tactile front…touching something cold is like grabbing onto an electric fence.  It’s very strange to have your own body mess with you like that.  I’m so grateful to not be vomiting all day like some people do with chemo (fingers crossed on that one!)  But it’s weird and inconvenient to have to adjust what you eat, drink and touch.
Right now I’m feeling ok.  I’m a little bit apprehensive because I know that it gets worse before it gets better.  The last day has told me that I cannot predict what’s coming next and I don’t like that.  This may be the toughest one for me out of the 8 rounds, simply because its all a mystery.  Everything is fine and then my body betrays me.  I’ve spent 35 years in it.  It’s like if a good friend who has always been kind and dependable suddenly starts acting like a total bitch.  
So this is where we give ourselves a moment.  Acknowledge the difficulty.  Acknowledge the frustration.  Choose to accept it.  Then turn our thoughts and our hopes heaven-ward.  People say I’m strong.  I am.  It would be false humility to argue that.  I was raised to be strong.  I have experienced success that galvanizes my trust in my own abilities.  Whatever you’ve got, bring it.  I love a challenge and I plan to win.  It’s my job to get people to understand why they should give their hard earned dollars to help unemployed, homeless drug addicts.  I’m not selling sports cars to men in the midst of their mid-life crisis or pacifiers to desperate new moms.  Lets just say I’ve chosen a field where it’s not an easy sell.  A former supervisor once said about me “she could sell snow to the Eskimos.”  Well I’ve never tried.  But I would probably give it a shot.  
But I can’t do it all.  
I’ve gone as far as I can go on my own strength at the moment.  So “I lift my eyes up…up to the mountain.  Where does my help come from? My help comes from you – maker of heaven…creator of the earth.”  
So, I lean into God today.  Giving Him my anxieties and worries.  Believing He will provide whatever is needed at the most appropriate time.  Sometimes that comes in the form of a good test result, help from a loved one, a cheerful card, an unexpected moment of peace.  

Learning from cancer

So I’m reading a lot about suffering, struggles, sickness, etc. It’s heavy stuff. But it’s hopeful stuff. I’m making my way through Tim Keller’s excellent book Walking with God Through Pain and Suffering.

Dr. Keller is a giant of the faith…super smart, wry sense of humor, a man who has had his own share of struggles. Yes, please. Give me a man who loves Jesus, has a PhD and has been through cancer – triple threat, Baby. (A far cry from the days when, to me, a real man was any guy who drove a Jeep, wore Birkenstocks and listened to Dave Matthews. Ick. If I met my 16 year old self now, I would basically hate her.)

So Tim Keller talks a lot about how our culture tells us that adversity, suffering and struggle are bad – they are something to get past so we can get on with real life. Suffering such as dealing with cancer is a life disruption, a snag, an interruption from our regularly scheduled programming. But reality – biblical, real life? It says this is IMPORTANT. It’s not an accident, it’s not punishment and it’s not to be squandered. Which brings about another one of my cancer boyfriends (i.e. spiritual advisors I have never personally met) John Piper – now, he’s said some, in my opinion, unnecessarily annoying things on some controversial subjects, but I choose to ignore those, and focus on the wisdom I think he does possess. His challenge to someone like me is “don’t waste your cancer.” Intriguing, no? It’s a whole new way of looking at this kind of situation. Here are some of the more interesting ideas:

You’ll waste your cancer if…

-you don’t believe it was designed for you by God. (Whoa! Can that be true? I think it probbaly is. It’s ok if you don’t. But think about God’s soveignty – if He’s in control of everything, He can choose what to allow and what not to.)

-you consider it only to be a curse and not a blessing. (Again. Whoa. My cancer can be a blessing. It’s hard to think this way, I know. But I can see how this is possible. It’s not easy to believe that might be true. But it’s worth some consideration.)

There are other interesting and challenging ideas in this piece. See them here.  http://m.crosswalk.com/faith/spiritual-life/don’t-waste-your-cancer-1383847.html

In other news, Mort the Port is healing well. I am gaining confidence in movement – at first, it just felt icky, and I did not want to move at all, worrying that I might dislodge it or something, but that is improving a lot. Chemo begins Thursday. I am pretty confident, however, it should be noted that I have a pattern that I’ve noticed. I don’t worry about upcoming doc appointments, I don’t think too much about them. I arrive in a sunny, calm mood, and suddenly unexpectedly intrusive, embarrasing or painful things are happening that I have not mentally or emotionally prepared for. So, I’m trying to consider that they will probably tell me something disappointing, ask me to take me clothes off or hurt me with a needle in a way that I was not expecting. I will report back later in the week, on what the unanticipated experience of the day is.