Recently, I've had the chance to share my story in two other settings.
First, it was an honor to be invited to share my story with my high school alma mater.
I entered Poly Prep in the 7th grade in 1977. (Yes, that was 40 years ago!!!)
It was the first year that girls were admitted to Poly.
When I graduated six years later, in 1983, I was the first African American girl to graduate.
Now THIS is a senior yearbook picture taken straight out of the early 80s -
nice look, right???
The other story was an inspiration and invitation from my dear friend, Mel. She is a gifted photographer, a thoughtful therapist, a loyal friend, a passionate wife, a creative mother, a loving sister - and I am so grateful that she's one of my dearest friends and companions on this journey that is my life. Although we have written many emails and messages to each other for years, although we have spoken on the phone and had deep and soulful conversations, I only met her in person for the first time less than a month ago when I flew out to Phoenix to be with her and a mutual friend named Natalia. After wishing we could meet together for years, when we finally found ourselves in the same place, the three of us immediately slipped into a groove of soul sisterhood that is rare. Truly. We walked and talked, ate and drank, told stories and spent time in silence. We wrote and cried and laughed. We gave each other gifts and cards and reason to believe in the goodness of God and the healing power of true friendship. It wasn't nearly enough time. But it was so good. So very good.
As part of a storytelling project she is doing on her blog, Mel asked me a gaggle of personal, intimate, tear-provoking questions - which I answered with all the honesty I could muster. Then we went out into the desert where she took photographs of me.
This is my story - and it goes beyond the surface of my life into some of the deepest recesses I've got. Please read it with tenderness. Read it with patience. Read it with grace. Read it and know me better.
(Before you click over to this story, you should know:
there are photographs in her blog post that include the kanswer scars on my chest.)
This is my story.
Thanks be to God.
This is my story.
Thanks be to God.
PS. Why do I spell it "kanswer"? The pronunciation is exactly the same as the dreaded "c word" but the spelling is different because I needed to exert some power over that disease. But my explanation goes back farther than that. I have a 23 year old daughter, an amazing young woman, whose name is Kristiana. We knew it was a unique spelling, but we knew she was going to be unique and we went with it. At the beginning, many people got it wrong, spelling her name with a "Ch" instead of a "K." To this day, many people get it wrong the first or second time they attempt to write her name. But there are people who have known her since she was born, since before she was born, who still misspell her name. I've come to believe that that is a matter of disrespect. They just can't be bothered to get it right.
Well, just after I was diagnosed with the dreaded c-word disease, when I was in the middle of all the tests and scans and appointments and scary conversations, I decided that I didn't want to give respect to something so awful, so life threatening. I began to spell it kancer, then kanser. But neither of those resonated with me in a meaningful way. As I continued to ponder my life and my future, I began to think, to hope, and to pray that the entire ordeal would teach me new things about life and faith. I hoped and prayed it would answer some of my bigger questions. That's when it hit me (and at the same time it hit a friend of mine who lives in Kentucky! Talk about sisterhood/friendship/connection to the max. We hadn't even talked to each other about it, but we began to spell it the same way right around the same time) to spell it "kanswer." A combination of lack of respect and looking for answers became a new spelling: k + answer = kanswer.
PSS. Yes, I have a tattoo. Many years ago, I attended an art workshop in Vermont where we were invited to create a personal logo. Mine emerged as a spiral, a labyrinth which represented my life, the twists and turns of my life and my life story - all under the cross. Last year, I took an online class led by Patti Digh, a new friend and long time mentor, and one of our assignments was this: "Surprise yourself." The first thing that came to mind that day was to get a tattoo over my left kanswer scar. That's where the kanswer had been discovered. That's where my heart is. So, with the help and support of my dearly beloved Sarah, I went to a tattoo shop, had a consultation, and then returned a few days later to have the tattoo done.
1 comment:
Love you.
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