One of the many side effects of one of the drugs used in healing therapy for kanswer is neuropathy.
Tingling and that "pins and needles" feeling come first.
My fingers no longer sense the keyboard, so I type the same letters over and over.
It feels like there's a thick pad between my feet and the floor.
A thick pad of nothingness.
Then numbness strikes.
There is no feeling at all.
Last week, my oncologist explained to me that different doctors handle the neuropathy problem in different ways. The deeper the infiltration of the drugs in the body's systems, the more acute the numbness - and the less likely it is that feeling will return. Ever. However, the deeper the infiltration, some doctors think, the greater the effect of the medication on the kanswer. Some doctors say elimination of kanswer is more important than anything else. They say that numbness is better than pain, better than kanswer. Many of their patients, myself included, disagree.
From another perspective, when also considering surgery, radiation, tamoxiphen, and other treatments that are often administered, there are doctors who argue that permanent loss of feeling in the hands and feet is a high price to pay for one small part of the overall healing protocol. My doctor falls into this latter group - and I'm grateful he does.
Speaking of neuropathy naturally got me to thinking about feeling - or the lack thereof - in other areas of my life.
Sometimes I will wake up in the middle of a conversation and find myself listening to someone telling me stories of discoveries and disappointments, their breakthroughs and insights - and I realize that I simply don't care. I don't want to hear another story about another great website or book. I don't want more advice on how to deal with kanswer or marriage or disappointment or parenting teenagers or saving for retirement or a possible war in Iran or homeschooling or environmental awareness or whether or not I still drink coffee with sugar.
I'm numb. I'm deaf. I'm blind. And I can't taste anything at all. I'm overwhelmed. I'm underwhelmed. I'm exhausted. I'm living through the biggest battle of my life. I'm numb, folks. The pins and needles feeling is long gone. There's a big fat pad of nothingness between me and you, between my soul and yours. Neuropathy has set in, big time.
Worst of all, there are many moments when I wake up in the middle of a meal or at the end of a meal, after a workout, after a shower, after a marathon session of staring at a blank page in my journal and playing with the pen in my hand - and I realize that I'm feeling a certain numbness with regard to my own life. I know I'm supposed to be paying close attention, but I'm not. I'm supposed to be gaining deep insight about the things of faith, life, hope, health, balance, and grace, but I'm not. I'm supposed to be coming up with new and innovative ways to homeschool and parent, to be a wife and daughter, to live out my big dreams and impact others in my life and sphere of influence - but I'm not. I find myself slouching and shuffling through too many days not writing, not reading, not reaching out to my friends, and not taking phone calls. I'm numb. There's a big fat pad of nothingness between me and my own mind, my own body, and my own soul.
What I'm discovering these days is that many of the truths about chemo-related neuropathy apply to the numbness I so often feel in my mind and soul as well.
The longer the numbness lasts, the less likely it seems that the feeling will come back. Ever.
The less likely I am to do make the decision to stop the numbing treatments.
The less likely I am to want to feel again.
Because it's kind of nice to not feel pain or loneliness or fear or inadequacy.
It's nice to not be plagued with questions and doubts.
It's nice to have a big fat pad of nothingness between myself and life's greatest challenges.
Numbness has its benefits.
Not so much!
Besides I don't want to have a nice life.
I want a passionate life, a committed life,
a life of connection and love,
intimacy and relationship.
Numbness sucks.
Numbness allows people to step on nails or splinters, not notice, develop an infection - and die.
Numbness allows people to handle hot pots and pans and not feel the pain - but their flesh is still destroyed.
Numbness allows parents to watch idly while their children grow up and move away without ever enjoying deep and meaningful connections with them.
Numbness allows people to spend money mindlessly or save money joylessly and never understand either.
Numbness allows marriages to disintegrate because neither partner is willing to be vulnerable enough to express true needs, feelings, desires, or fears with the other. We shut down. We close ourselves off.
Numbness allows us deny our strength, our courage, our determination because we stop believing we are worthy of honor and praise for just how hard we work to stay alive and stay involved in our lives.
Numbness allows us to get to the place where we can't even put words to our desires and passions and longings because we don't allow ourselves to feel anything good.
Numbness allows us to say that nothing is wrong because nothing really is wrong. Nothing much is happening at all.
Numbness allows us to get to the place where we can't even remember what life used to feel like.
Numbness is not good.
Numbness sucks.
On Friday, I began to feel strange and unwelcome feeling in my feet. Pins and needles. Ouch. Walking was painful. I changed my socks. I changed my slippers. Nothing seemed to help. Ouch.
My fingers throbbed, especially my fingertips. And typing on my Blackberry caused me to wince. Ouch.
Crap! Here we go - more side effects.
Wait, Gail - this is what you wanted.
Feeling is returning. It doesn't feel great yet. It doesn't feel like it used to feel before all this happened. But at least I feel something.
Same thing with my heart.
I'm waking up again.
Listening to others more intentionally.
Listening to myself, my body, and my soul most of all.
Letting the tears flow.
Kanswer is lonely. Kanswer is scary. Healing is hard.
Nothing will ever be the same as it used to be. Nothing. Ever.
I'm trying hard to believe and accept that that is a good thing.
Letting the laughter come as well.
I have very funny friends. I have enormously generous friends.
My children's friends are pretty awesome too.
There is some funny stuff on Youtube.
There is beauty all around me and also within me.
Paint, crayons, markers, pencils, scissors, glue tape, paper clips, and needles and thread have been flying around here this week. It's fun being creative.
The sun is shining. Birds are landing on our deck.
Ants are making thousands of small red hills in our neighborhood.
Kristiana said it looks like my hair might be starting to grow back.
(We are boundless optimists, my daughter and I!)
I am accepting compliments from those around me.
For someone who just finished six rounds of chemotherapy, I do look pretty good.
It is pretty great that I can cook, clean, do laundry, walk the dog, go to the supermarket and take care of my children even during these long weeks of treatment.
I wish I didn't have to do all of this at this time
(I wish someone could make me numb to how hard that truth is...)
but I am doing it - and I'm doing it pretty doggone well.
Numbness has its uses. Numbness has its place.
But I'm tired of talking about neuropathy.
I'm ready for full sensation again.
I'm ready to touch and be touched,
to listen and be listened to,
to see and be seen,
and I am ready to taste and be tasted.
Again.
For the first time.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Thankful Thursday
The week of my healing treatments is hard. Very hard. Following the Monday morning infusion, I spend the rest of the week exhausted, achy, slightly queasy, and pissed off that I have kanswer. I get really angry about the kanswer thing. But this week is different - because it is my last one!!! Thanks be to God!
The treatment I underwent this past Monday varied from the previous five rounds in one crucially important aspect: I did not receive the drug that causes the numbness in my hands and feet. The oncologist informed me that the worse the numbness gets, the less likely it is that it will ever go away. So when he offered me the option to forego that dastardly drug on this last round, what do you think I said??? I still feel pretty crappy today, as I always do on the Thursday of treatment week, but there is more hope in today's crappiness!
That last sentence may be the oddest one I have ever written... but it is true: in spite of today's crappiness, I feel a deep sense of hope and also of gratitude.
Today, I am grateful for:
* the sunshine that is brightening my bedroom as I write this
* the ease of borrowing books and movies from the library
* laughter
* the pale green quilt thrown casually over my ice cold, slightly numb feet
* how easy it is to spend hours watching Iron Chef America and Man vs. Food
* the freedom and space that result from decluttering
* the ways in which so many dreams are coming true - books published (go Glennon!), exhibitions put up in galleries (go Pamela!), and even an appearance on Oprah (go Brene!)
* the ability to watch them bring their dreams to life without any nagging sense of jealousy or envy (most of the time!)
* the peace the comes from knowing that this is my story - right here, right now - and consciously making the choice to live out this story as it is being written for me and through me, one day, one breath, one moment at a time
* the fact that I am able to take all this time and space to rest and recover from chemo. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to work full-time outside of the home and also be able to take gentle and tender care of oneself during treatment for this or any dis-ease.
* the ways in which my my eyes, my mind, and my heart are being opened to the suffering and needs of others because of my current situation
* the fact that my husband and children don't care about any kanswer-fighting diet - they know and still love "the old me" and they keep bringing me candy and cookies because that's the stuff that used to make me so happy
* the simple, complex, miraculous, life-altering, and profound gift of being seen, heard, and loved just as I am
* how frequently my most challenging moments occur at exactly the same time that someone is moved to write to me, call me, or check in here at the blog - and then they reach out and tell me about the synchronicity of the need and the prayer, the pain and the remembrance, the loneliness and the loving thought
* the knowledge that three weeks from now, I won't be recovering from another round of healing therapy
* the undeniable buds of hope and joy that are pushing up through the winter-burned soil of my soul
Kanswer sucks. So do so many things that all of us are dealing with. I've heard from many of you - financial challenges, recovery from surgery, broken relationships, children in distress, addiction, fear, loneliness - we all are dealing with something. I can't promise that things will get better. No one can. I can't promise that the job will come through before the next mortgage payment is due or that he will make the right choice or that the diagnosis will be in your favor.
One thing I know for sure is this - hope and joy are always possible. We can cling to faith. We can cling to each other. We can cling to God. I don't know about you, but I refuse to give up hope. I refuse to give up on the future. I refuse because I have the rest of my life to live. I have two teenagers yet to push out of the nest. I have a husband who has never given up on me. So how can I give up on him or them or myself? What else have we got, folks? What else have we got?
* One last thing - I am grateful to be alive.
The treatment I underwent this past Monday varied from the previous five rounds in one crucially important aspect: I did not receive the drug that causes the numbness in my hands and feet. The oncologist informed me that the worse the numbness gets, the less likely it is that it will ever go away. So when he offered me the option to forego that dastardly drug on this last round, what do you think I said??? I still feel pretty crappy today, as I always do on the Thursday of treatment week, but there is more hope in today's crappiness!
That last sentence may be the oddest one I have ever written... but it is true: in spite of today's crappiness, I feel a deep sense of hope and also of gratitude.
Today, I am grateful for:
* the sunshine that is brightening my bedroom as I write this
* the ease of borrowing books and movies from the library
* laughter
* the pale green quilt thrown casually over my ice cold, slightly numb feet
* how easy it is to spend hours watching Iron Chef America and Man vs. Food
* the freedom and space that result from decluttering
* the ways in which so many dreams are coming true - books published (go Glennon!), exhibitions put up in galleries (go Pamela!), and even an appearance on Oprah (go Brene!)
* the ability to watch them bring their dreams to life without any nagging sense of jealousy or envy (most of the time!)
* the peace the comes from knowing that this is my story - right here, right now - and consciously making the choice to live out this story as it is being written for me and through me, one day, one breath, one moment at a time
* the fact that I am able to take all this time and space to rest and recover from chemo. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to work full-time outside of the home and also be able to take gentle and tender care of oneself during treatment for this or any dis-ease.
* the ways in which my my eyes, my mind, and my heart are being opened to the suffering and needs of others because of my current situation
* the fact that my husband and children don't care about any kanswer-fighting diet - they know and still love "the old me" and they keep bringing me candy and cookies because that's the stuff that used to make me so happy
* the simple, complex, miraculous, life-altering, and profound gift of being seen, heard, and loved just as I am
* how frequently my most challenging moments occur at exactly the same time that someone is moved to write to me, call me, or check in here at the blog - and then they reach out and tell me about the synchronicity of the need and the prayer, the pain and the remembrance, the loneliness and the loving thought
* the knowledge that three weeks from now, I won't be recovering from another round of healing therapy
* my wonderful chiropractor who has supported me with supplements, information, and encouragement since the day of my diagnosis, and also with palpable excitement about what I will be able to do to reduce the chances of kanswer's recurrence and live a healthier life once all of this is behind me
Kanswer sucks. So do so many things that all of us are dealing with. I've heard from many of you - financial challenges, recovery from surgery, broken relationships, children in distress, addiction, fear, loneliness - we all are dealing with something. I can't promise that things will get better. No one can. I can't promise that the job will come through before the next mortgage payment is due or that he will make the right choice or that the diagnosis will be in your favor.
One thing I know for sure is this - hope and joy are always possible. We can cling to faith. We can cling to each other. We can cling to God. I don't know about you, but I refuse to give up hope. I refuse to give up on the future. I refuse because I have the rest of my life to live. I have two teenagers yet to push out of the nest. I have a husband who has never given up on me. So how can I give up on him or them or myself? What else have we got, folks? What else have we got?
* One last thing - I am grateful to be alive.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Done, done, done!
Healing therapy is now behind me. Six sessions - check!
I spent most of the weekend preparing for today's final session and also celebrating the fact that today would be my final healing therapy session.
I went to three supermarkets for to meet our sundry dietary needs.
* fruits and vegetables for soup-making, fresh juices and smoothies
* dog food
* chocolate almond milk for my growing boy
* bouillon cubes for the aforementioned soup
* limes and lemons to squeeze into my filtered water
* whole grain bread
* sushi
* kombucha tea
* raw and sprouted almonds and roasted, salted cashews
* am I the only one who absolutely LOVES going to the supermarket?
* we are enormously blessed to have the tremendous variety of foods available to us
* I am profoundly grateful.
My daughter and I hit the mall for some retail therapy.
* I came away with an ankle length blue and white striped skirt which I wore to healing therapy today and received a few compliments on it. As I've said before, I may have kanswer, but I don't have to look raggedy.
* I found a Jones New York wrap dress on sale.
* But the find of the day was a red Eileen Fisher dress, originally priced at $198. It rang up at $19.99. And then the cashier added a 20% discount coupon to the entire bill. So that $198 dress ended up costing $15.
I fell in love with an absolutely beautiful little boy in the movie, Just Like the Son.
* He is a gem. The story is gentle, sweet, sad, painful, frightening, and worth every moment I spent watching it.
* I'm planning to watch it again sometime this week.
I spent time praying, journaling, painting, preparing three new journals to play in, and sitting outside on the deck with no hat on, getting vitamin D the old-fashioned way.
I cried a lot this weekend too. Because kanswer sucks.
Chemotherapy sucks. Surgery is gonna suck. This whole process SUCKS!!!
Even though I know it is meant to heal me, it breaks my body down. All the way down.
Surgery is gonna be painful and is going to usher me into a new relationship with my body.
A body without breasts. A body with new scars.
A body that offers daily reminders of this traumatic journey I am now on.
Radiation will follow surgery.
And five years of hormone therapy after that.
I plan to ask if those final two steps can be skipped, but today my oncologist told me that he wouldn't recommend that.
I've been told that I've been brave throughout this process.
Courageous. Strong. Energetic. A role model of some kind.
I haven't felt courageous or strong or like an example of anything.
I've felt flattened most of the time. Incredulous. Bewildered. Exhausted. Angry.
I've pleaded with God for a break. For a few minutes of not having kanswer.
I recently thought back to those final moments of delivering my children.
Those moments of entering transition when I was convinced that I simply could not go on.
I remember being late in labor with Kristiana and asking the doctor if I could go home for an hour or two to rest and then return to the hospital to finish giving birth. She did not grant me permission to do that.
That's how I've felt during this healing therapy process. Like I needed a few days of not having to deal with kanswer, a quick regrowth of my dreadlocs, the ability to do a 60 minute workout, and the strength to go out to dinner with friends. Then I could get back to the work of fighting kanswer with renewed joy and strength. I have not been granted a reprieve this time either. Not yet anyway.
Another reason that I cried this past weekend was this: you, my friends, my family, poured love over me and into me last week and this weekend. You have sent cards, letters, three care packages, emails, texts, phone calls, gift cards, flowers, candy, desserts, pens, journals, post cards, stickers - the list is too long. You know who you are. You know how you opened your generous hands and hearts and poured yourselves all over me. Truly I wept. I had to stop reading things, stop going through boxes, and let the tears of joy and gratitude flow freely. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
********************
I have decided to grant myself a six week break before surgery.
The oncologist said I don't have to wait that long.
He said I will probably be strong enough for surgery in four weeks.
I said: Thanks but no thanks, Doc. I'm giving myself the extra two weeks.
This is my chance to give myself a break from this fierce battle.
I'm going to the beach with a friend in April for a few days to recover.
I'm going to go out to lunch and dinner with family, with friends, and all by myself.
I'm going to work on filling the journals I'm making.
And I am going to celebrate, give thanks, honor my body for carrying me through this phase of the journey, and do my best to prepare it for all that is yet to come.
For tonight, however, I am focused on the fact that I am done, done, done!!!
Glory be to God on high!
And to all of you, to all of us, may there be peace, rest, recovery, hope joy, and lots of dancing.
I spent most of the weekend preparing for today's final session and also celebrating the fact that today would be my final healing therapy session.
I went to three supermarkets for to meet our sundry dietary needs.
* fruits and vegetables for soup-making, fresh juices and smoothies
* dog food
* chocolate almond milk for my growing boy
* bouillon cubes for the aforementioned soup
* limes and lemons to squeeze into my filtered water
* whole grain bread
* sushi
* kombucha tea
* raw and sprouted almonds and roasted, salted cashews
* am I the only one who absolutely LOVES going to the supermarket?
* we are enormously blessed to have the tremendous variety of foods available to us
* I am profoundly grateful.
My daughter and I hit the mall for some retail therapy.
* I came away with an ankle length blue and white striped skirt which I wore to healing therapy today and received a few compliments on it. As I've said before, I may have kanswer, but I don't have to look raggedy.
* I found a Jones New York wrap dress on sale.
* But the find of the day was a red Eileen Fisher dress, originally priced at $198. It rang up at $19.99. And then the cashier added a 20% discount coupon to the entire bill. So that $198 dress ended up costing $15.
I fell in love with an absolutely beautiful little boy in the movie, Just Like the Son.
* He is a gem. The story is gentle, sweet, sad, painful, frightening, and worth every moment I spent watching it.
* I'm planning to watch it again sometime this week.
I spent time praying, journaling, painting, preparing three new journals to play in, and sitting outside on the deck with no hat on, getting vitamin D the old-fashioned way.
I cried a lot this weekend too. Because kanswer sucks.
Chemotherapy sucks. Surgery is gonna suck. This whole process SUCKS!!!
Even though I know it is meant to heal me, it breaks my body down. All the way down.
Surgery is gonna be painful and is going to usher me into a new relationship with my body.
A body without breasts. A body with new scars.
A body that offers daily reminders of this traumatic journey I am now on.
Radiation will follow surgery.
And five years of hormone therapy after that.
I plan to ask if those final two steps can be skipped, but today my oncologist told me that he wouldn't recommend that.
I've been told that I've been brave throughout this process.
Courageous. Strong. Energetic. A role model of some kind.
I haven't felt courageous or strong or like an example of anything.
I've felt flattened most of the time. Incredulous. Bewildered. Exhausted. Angry.
I've pleaded with God for a break. For a few minutes of not having kanswer.
I recently thought back to those final moments of delivering my children.
Those moments of entering transition when I was convinced that I simply could not go on.
I remember being late in labor with Kristiana and asking the doctor if I could go home for an hour or two to rest and then return to the hospital to finish giving birth. She did not grant me permission to do that.
That's how I've felt during this healing therapy process. Like I needed a few days of not having to deal with kanswer, a quick regrowth of my dreadlocs, the ability to do a 60 minute workout, and the strength to go out to dinner with friends. Then I could get back to the work of fighting kanswer with renewed joy and strength. I have not been granted a reprieve this time either. Not yet anyway.
Who doesn't love polka dotted wrapping paper?
Another reason that I cried this past weekend was this: you, my friends, my family, poured love over me and into me last week and this weekend. You have sent cards, letters, three care packages, emails, texts, phone calls, gift cards, flowers, candy, desserts, pens, journals, post cards, stickers - the list is too long. You know who you are. You know how you opened your generous hands and hearts and poured yourselves all over me. Truly I wept. I had to stop reading things, stop going through boxes, and let the tears of joy and gratitude flow freely. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
********************
I have decided to grant myself a six week break before surgery.
The oncologist said I don't have to wait that long.
He said I will probably be strong enough for surgery in four weeks.
I said: Thanks but no thanks, Doc. I'm giving myself the extra two weeks.
This is my chance to give myself a break from this fierce battle.
I'm going to the beach with a friend in April for a few days to recover.
I'm going to go out to lunch and dinner with family, with friends, and all by myself.
I'm going to work on filling the journals I'm making.
And I am going to celebrate, give thanks, honor my body for carrying me through this phase of the journey, and do my best to prepare it for all that is yet to come.
For tonight, however, I am focused on the fact that I am done, done, done!!!
Glory be to God on high!
And to all of you, to all of us, may there be peace, rest, recovery, hope joy, and lots of dancing.
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
Time flies whether or not you are having fun!
Back on November 14, 2012, the first time I went to my oncologist's office, one of the oncology nurses, Morgan, explained the chemotherapy protocol I was about to undergo.
1. Take two steroid tablets in the morning and two more in the evening of the day before, the day of and the day after chemo.
2. There were two prescriptions written in case of nausea. Take the first one. If it doesn't work, take the second one.
3. On the day after chemo, come in for an injection to help you rebuild your white blood cells.
4. Potential side effects: nausea, metallic taste in my mouth, achiness, darkening of finger and toenails, numbness, hair loss, heart problems, chemo brain, heartburn, leukemia (yes, folks, kanswer is a potential side effect of chemo!) - you name it, chemotherapy can bring it on. As if kanswer itself isn't enough of a problem.
5. Blah, blah, blah, call us. Blah, blah, blah, go to the emergency room.
All the while, my tears were flowing, and in my heart, I was asking God, "Why is this happening to me?" When I could pull myself together enough to speak, I said to the wonderful young nurse, "I feel like this is a death sentence and this is never going to end."
She said, "No, Gail, this is not a death sentence. It's going to go by much quicker than you think. You are going to be fine. You are going to get through this. We are going to get through this together."
I left that appointment scared, discouraged, and convinced that chemotherapy would be the end of my life as I knew it.
I saw Morgan this past Monday and she asked how many rounds I had remaining. I said, "ONE!!!" And I threw my arms overhead and did a little dance right there in the treatment room. Other patients and their companions laughed at me, but I didn't care one bit. She reminded me of her prediction: "See, Gail? I told you you'd get through it." She was right.
Fifteen weeks after Morgan's truth-telling - I am less than one week from MY LAST ROUND OF CHEMO!!! Yes, friends, family members, and loved ones of all stripes, my sixth and final round of healing therapy is this coming Monday, March 11th at 10:45 am. Glory be!!!!!!!
************* Imagine me doing a combination of a chicken dance,
the electric slide, and Beyonce's Single Ladies dance right now!!! ***************
Here are ten ways that I know I am approaching the light at the end of the healing therapy - chemo - journey.
1. I'm already thinking about how great it will be to have hair again. Hair keeps your head warm. Who knew?
2. I'm making plans for all the food I'm going to eat again once my taste buds regain their functionality.
3. I woke up in the middle of the night last night - not to pee, not to worry, but because I was imagining how great it will be to land in Madrid again and lay eyes on my dearly beloved friends in Spain.
4. I'm already choosing the clothing I will take with me on the aforementioned trip to my favorite place in the world.
5. I am looking forward to going back to church on a Sunday morning. The last time I was there on a Sunday was Thanksgiving weekend. The next time will be Easter Sunday morning. (There's a blog post in there somewhere.)
6. I am anticipating trips to Target, the supermarket, the mall, movie theaters, and other public places without wondering who has what dreadful strain of the flu, trying not to focus on when was the last time the carts were wiped down, and without having to wear gloves.
7. I've made firm plans to go to the beach for four days with one of my soul sisters in the middle of April - post-chemo and pre-surgery - and I've already made the journal I'm going to take with me.
8. Yesterday I made a date to get my teeth cleaned. One thing you may or may not know about me is that I am obsessed with dental care. I have weak teeth - I cracked one while eating a Lara bar back in August. I cracked another one while flossing - yes, you read that right. I flossed off the edge of a tooth at the end of November. So I brush and floss obsessively to keep cavities and other dental issues at bay. Because of chemo, I haven't been able to get my teeth cleaned - apparently, bacteria and germs abound during dental cleanings. Who knew? Well, now I have an appointment set in April.
9. Everyone around me keeps asking me to do things - like take trips with them or have them come visit me or artist dates or dinners out or parties. And I keep having to pull out my calender and remind myself that there is life to be lived after March 11th. Until I began to flip my calender past March, I think I truly had internalized the notion that there was nothing beyond that date, that perhaps I wouldn't survive beyond that day. It looks like I just might make it.
10. To quote a dear sister and friend, "in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, all is well."
In spite of all the evidence to the contrary, I am going to survive chemo.
In spite of the fact that I have experienced many of the side effects of chemo,
there is finally an end in sight.
There is healing in sight. There is restoration in sight.
There is great cause to celebrate - and soon.
There is peace. There is hope. There is a future.
****************
It's amazing how one song can mean so many different things at different times.
Back in 2008, this song was my daughter's theme song.
She and I sang it and danced to it when she was in the hospital.
Now in 2013, it is my song. She and I will sing and dance to it again.
Before, during, and after my own hospitalization.
I have a hope. I have a future.
I have a destiny that is yet awaiting me.
My life's not over; a new beginning's just begun.
I have a hope. I have this hope.
God has a plan, it’s not to harm me
But it’s to prosper me and to hear me when I call.
He intercedes for me, working all things for my good
Though trials may come I have this hope.
I will yet praise Him, my great Redeemer
I will yet stand up and give Him glory with my life
He takes my darkness and He turns it into light
I will yet praise Him, my Lord my God.
My God is for me, He’s not against me
So tell me whom then, tell me whom then shall I fear?
He has prepared for me great works He’ll help me to complete
I have a hope, I have this hope
Goodness and mercy, they’re gonna follow me
And I’ll forever dwell in the house of my great King
No eye has ever seen all He’s preparing there for me
Though trials may come, I have this hope.
by Tommy Walker
1. Take two steroid tablets in the morning and two more in the evening of the day before, the day of and the day after chemo.
2. There were two prescriptions written in case of nausea. Take the first one. If it doesn't work, take the second one.
3. On the day after chemo, come in for an injection to help you rebuild your white blood cells.
4. Potential side effects: nausea, metallic taste in my mouth, achiness, darkening of finger and toenails, numbness, hair loss, heart problems, chemo brain, heartburn, leukemia (yes, folks, kanswer is a potential side effect of chemo!) - you name it, chemotherapy can bring it on. As if kanswer itself isn't enough of a problem.
5. Blah, blah, blah, call us. Blah, blah, blah, go to the emergency room.
All the while, my tears were flowing, and in my heart, I was asking God, "Why is this happening to me?" When I could pull myself together enough to speak, I said to the wonderful young nurse, "I feel like this is a death sentence and this is never going to end."
She said, "No, Gail, this is not a death sentence. It's going to go by much quicker than you think. You are going to be fine. You are going to get through this. We are going to get through this together."
I left that appointment scared, discouraged, and convinced that chemotherapy would be the end of my life as I knew it.
I saw Morgan this past Monday and she asked how many rounds I had remaining. I said, "ONE!!!" And I threw my arms overhead and did a little dance right there in the treatment room. Other patients and their companions laughed at me, but I didn't care one bit. She reminded me of her prediction: "See, Gail? I told you you'd get through it." She was right.
Fifteen weeks after Morgan's truth-telling - I am less than one week from MY LAST ROUND OF CHEMO!!! Yes, friends, family members, and loved ones of all stripes, my sixth and final round of healing therapy is this coming Monday, March 11th at 10:45 am. Glory be!!!!!!!
************* Imagine me doing a combination of a chicken dance,
the electric slide, and Beyonce's Single Ladies dance right now!!! ***************
Here are ten ways that I know I am approaching the light at the end of the healing therapy - chemo - journey.
1. I'm already thinking about how great it will be to have hair again. Hair keeps your head warm. Who knew?
2. I'm making plans for all the food I'm going to eat again once my taste buds regain their functionality.
3. I woke up in the middle of the night last night - not to pee, not to worry, but because I was imagining how great it will be to land in Madrid again and lay eyes on my dearly beloved friends in Spain.
4. I'm already choosing the clothing I will take with me on the aforementioned trip to my favorite place in the world.
Watching church on television...
not as a bedside Baptist, but a prostrate Presbyterian.
(Do you think I have enough books and papers on my bed?)
6. I am anticipating trips to Target, the supermarket, the mall, movie theaters, and other public places without wondering who has what dreadful strain of the flu, trying not to focus on when was the last time the carts were wiped down, and without having to wear gloves.
7. I've made firm plans to go to the beach for four days with one of my soul sisters in the middle of April - post-chemo and pre-surgery - and I've already made the journal I'm going to take with me.
8. Yesterday I made a date to get my teeth cleaned. One thing you may or may not know about me is that I am obsessed with dental care. I have weak teeth - I cracked one while eating a Lara bar back in August. I cracked another one while flossing - yes, you read that right. I flossed off the edge of a tooth at the end of November. So I brush and floss obsessively to keep cavities and other dental issues at bay. Because of chemo, I haven't been able to get my teeth cleaned - apparently, bacteria and germs abound during dental cleanings. Who knew? Well, now I have an appointment set in April.
9. Everyone around me keeps asking me to do things - like take trips with them or have them come visit me or artist dates or dinners out or parties. And I keep having to pull out my calender and remind myself that there is life to be lived after March 11th. Until I began to flip my calender past March, I think I truly had internalized the notion that there was nothing beyond that date, that perhaps I wouldn't survive beyond that day. It looks like I just might make it.
See that dark half-moon at the bottom of my thumb nail?
10. To quote a dear sister and friend, "in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, all is well."
In spite of all the evidence to the contrary, I am going to survive chemo.
In spite of the fact that I have experienced many of the side effects of chemo,
there is finally an end in sight.
There is healing in sight. There is restoration in sight.
There is great cause to celebrate - and soon.
There is peace. There is hope. There is a future.
****************
It's amazing how one song can mean so many different things at different times.
Back in 2008, this song was my daughter's theme song.
She and I sang it and danced to it when she was in the hospital.
Now in 2013, it is my song. She and I will sing and dance to it again.
Before, during, and after my own hospitalization.
I have a hope. I have a future.
I have a destiny that is yet awaiting me.
My life's not over; a new beginning's just begun.
I have a hope. I have this hope.
God has a plan, it’s not to harm me
But it’s to prosper me and to hear me when I call.
He intercedes for me, working all things for my good
Though trials may come I have this hope.
I will yet praise Him, my great Redeemer
I will yet stand up and give Him glory with my life
He takes my darkness and He turns it into light
I will yet praise Him, my Lord my God.
My God is for me, He’s not against me
So tell me whom then, tell me whom then shall I fear?
He has prepared for me great works He’ll help me to complete
I have a hope, I have this hope
Goodness and mercy, they’re gonna follow me
And I’ll forever dwell in the house of my great King
No eye has ever seen all He’s preparing there for me
Though trials may come, I have this hope.
by Tommy Walker
Saturday, March 02, 2013
You tell me...
Three weeks ago, we dropped our dog off at the dogsitter's house so we could attend my son's tennis tournament out of town. I hadn't seen her in a few months, so when she saw me, she said, "Your hair looks different. Did you cut your hair?" I thought that was an interesting observation being that I was wearing a hat at the time and there is no hair underneath my hat. I hope and pray that her observation skills in dog sitting are more acute than in hairdo assessment.
I said, "Kanswer cut my hair."
Awkward silence.
Then she said, "I'm sooooooo sorry. I can't believe I was so insensitive. Oh, man. I feel so stupid."
I said, "You have no reason to apologize. There's no way you could have known. Don't worry about it."
Then she said, "I know a woman who had breast kanswer. Then it came back in her ovaries. And now it's in her bones. It's really bad. I feel so sorry for her."
Awkward silence.
I wanted to ask, "Is there a happy ending to this story?"
I really wanted to ask, "Are you f*cking kidding me? Is that the best response you could come up with?"
*************
A couple of days ago, I was wandering through Trader Joe's and ran into an acquaintance I hadn't seen in more than a year. Hugs. Smiles. Great to see you...
She asked, "Did you cut your hair?"
I gave my now-standard answer: "Kanswer cut my hair."
Awkward silence.
Then more hugs. Tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm so sorry I asked about your hair like that. I do like your hat. (Her teenage daughter nodded in agreement and said, "Very chic.") Don't worry, Gail, you're gonna be just fine. God will get you through this. It is well."
She said she had a new phone and had lost my number, so I took her new number and sent her a text so she would have mine.
More hugs. More tears. Tender good-byes.
A minute later, I got a text from her that said, "Got it. Will be in touch soon. It is WELL."
*************
You tell me - which of those responses is more uplifting to someone who is in the midst of a battle with kanswer?
Also - why do people feel guilty for asking about my lack of hair?
I wonder if it feels kinda like asking, "Are you pregnant?"
I said, "Kanswer cut my hair."
Awkward silence.
Then she said, "I'm sooooooo sorry. I can't believe I was so insensitive. Oh, man. I feel so stupid."
I said, "You have no reason to apologize. There's no way you could have known. Don't worry about it."
Then she said, "I know a woman who had breast kanswer. Then it came back in her ovaries. And now it's in her bones. It's really bad. I feel so sorry for her."
Awkward silence.
I wanted to ask, "Is there a happy ending to this story?"
I really wanted to ask, "Are you f*cking kidding me? Is that the best response you could come up with?"
*************
A couple of days ago, I was wandering through Trader Joe's and ran into an acquaintance I hadn't seen in more than a year. Hugs. Smiles. Great to see you...
She asked, "Did you cut your hair?"
I gave my now-standard answer: "Kanswer cut my hair."
Awkward silence.
Then more hugs. Tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm so sorry I asked about your hair like that. I do like your hat. (Her teenage daughter nodded in agreement and said, "Very chic.") Don't worry, Gail, you're gonna be just fine. God will get you through this. It is well."
She said she had a new phone and had lost my number, so I took her new number and sent her a text so she would have mine.
More hugs. More tears. Tender good-byes.
A minute later, I got a text from her that said, "Got it. Will be in touch soon. It is WELL."
*************
You tell me - which of those responses is more uplifting to someone who is in the midst of a battle with kanswer?
Also - why do people feel guilty for asking about my lack of hair?
I wonder if it feels kinda like asking, "Are you pregnant?"
Thursday, February 28, 2013
For those of you who are wondering what just happened...
So last Sunday, I went to see and hear Glennon Melton speak at a church here in Charlotte.
I wrote about her amazing talk here.
On Sunday evening, Glennon and her sister, Amanda, sought me and found me in their massive Momastery facebook page fan-o-sphere, and they friended me. What? Who me?
Then they each wrote to me, actually sent me private messages.
WHAT? WHO ME???
And then THIS happened. And a whole lot of Melton's Monkees, my sister Monkees, came a-calling on little old me. And leaving messages. And sending love. And praying for me. And lighting candles. And sending care packages. And inviting me over to sit and eat with them.
What? Who me?
Yes, me.
Why?
Because, as I have often said, I am determined to be kind to everyone I meet and see because we are all fighting great battles. I knew that Glennon was a bit reluctant about speaking in public, a bit nervous about being in rooms full of Monkees before she had herself fully together. She made me laugh as she described her terror, but it is terror nonetheless. For her, sitting in front of a crowd and baring her soul was going to feel a lot like entering into a fierce battle indeed.
So when I found out that she was coming to Charlotte, I knew that I had to go. I won't lie; I wanted to go mostly for me, because I wanted to be in the same room with one of my greatest teachers (and someone who I just know could easily be one of my best friends as well). But I also wanted to be there for her. I wanted to sit where I could see her, look into her eyes, and send her lasers of love. I wanted to be close enough so that my joy, my excitement, and my sheer awe at the woman that she is and the woman that she is becoming would be palpable for her. Understanding that perfect love casts out fear, I hoped that my deeply flawed and imperfect love would serve to divert fear - even just a little bit.
Apparently, she felt it. She felt buoyed by all the love in the room - and by my love in particular. Somehow the nods I nodded and the amens I uttered gave her space and caused her to feel safe enough to tell her story, her truth, and know that in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, all was well. For me to know that I was part of that, to know that she rode the wave of my love and support into revelations and stories that might not otherwise have been shared, that is a great honor, indeed.
Before you shake your head and click back over to facebook, let me be clear. This is not about me. It's not about my big, bald head nodding up and down. It's not about my few vocalized "amens."
This is about God. This is about grace.
This is about sisterhood. This is about community.
This is about presence. This is about paying attention.
This is about hope. This is about persistence.
This is about showing up. This is about leaving the measuring rod at home.
This is about feeling fear and doing the hard things anyway.
This is about fighting your own battles and supporting other warriors in theirs as well.
This is about how love wins.
This is about how love wins.
For those of you who are wondering about what just happened -
love just happened, my friends.
I wrote about her amazing talk here.
Glennon and the beautiful preacher man
On Sunday evening, Glennon and her sister, Amanda, sought me and found me in their massive Momastery facebook page fan-o-sphere, and they friended me. What? Who me?
Then they each wrote to me, actually sent me private messages.
WHAT? WHO ME???
Amanda and me
What? Who me?
Yes, me.
Why?
Because, as I have often said, I am determined to be kind to everyone I meet and see because we are all fighting great battles. I knew that Glennon was a bit reluctant about speaking in public, a bit nervous about being in rooms full of Monkees before she had herself fully together. She made me laugh as she described her terror, but it is terror nonetheless. For her, sitting in front of a crowd and baring her soul was going to feel a lot like entering into a fierce battle indeed.
So when I found out that she was coming to Charlotte, I knew that I had to go. I won't lie; I wanted to go mostly for me, because I wanted to be in the same room with one of my greatest teachers (and someone who I just know could easily be one of my best friends as well). But I also wanted to be there for her. I wanted to sit where I could see her, look into her eyes, and send her lasers of love. I wanted to be close enough so that my joy, my excitement, and my sheer awe at the woman that she is and the woman that she is becoming would be palpable for her. Understanding that perfect love casts out fear, I hoped that my deeply flawed and imperfect love would serve to divert fear - even just a little bit.
Apparently, she felt it. She felt buoyed by all the love in the room - and by my love in particular. Somehow the nods I nodded and the amens I uttered gave her space and caused her to feel safe enough to tell her story, her truth, and know that in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, all was well. For me to know that I was part of that, to know that she rode the wave of my love and support into revelations and stories that might not otherwise have been shared, that is a great honor, indeed.
Before you shake your head and click back over to facebook, let me be clear. This is not about me. It's not about my big, bald head nodding up and down. It's not about my few vocalized "amens."
This is about God. This is about grace.
This is about sisterhood. This is about community.
This is about presence. This is about paying attention.
This is about hope. This is about persistence.
This is about showing up. This is about leaving the measuring rod at home.
This is about feeling fear and doing the hard things anyway.
This is about fighting your own battles and supporting other warriors in theirs as well.
This is about how love wins.
This is about how love wins.
For those of you who are wondering about what just happened -
love just happened, my friends.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
thin places
Last Friday morning, I told Daniel that he could either do his regular homeschooling assignments or he could climb in bed, sit next to me, and watch a movie. He deliberated for three long seconds and chose the latter.
We watched The Way, a beautiful movie by Emilio Estevez and his father, Martin Sheen. It is a story of a pilgrimage, a journey, a transformation. It is a story of friendship, parenthood, risk-taking, love, and death. It is a story of life itself.
I confess that I was a little nervous about my movie choice. After all, Daniel is 16 years old. He likes rap music and playing tennis, cheeseburgers and gatorade, professional wrestling and The Jersey Shore. What is he going to think of a movie about a few people walking an ancient pilgrimage across the northern coast of Spain? Will he care enough to put down his iphone and actually watch or will he bail out twenty minutes in and say he'd rather watch his biology video after all?
Before we watched the movie, I talked to Daniel about the concept of "thin places." Those places in the world where you feel like you are closer to God, to eternity, to that which is unseen but deeply known. Those moments when you know that you are not alone, that you are loved, and that, indeed, all shall be well. Those places and those times when you know that you know that you know that you are exactly where you need to be, and your body and soul quiver with recognition of the eternal, right there with you, within you, around you, next to you. Well, at least that what it feels like to me.
While we watched the movie, there was no texting, facebooking, or instagramming. No requests for bathroom or popcorn breaks. No rolled eyes. No sarcastic remarks. Just this Momma and her sweet son watching a movie on a Friday morning in February.
At the conclusion of one of the most poignant scenes in the film, he said, "That is definitely a thin place."
I smiled and thought - with a soul-shifting tremor - "Right here, right now, this bed of mine is a thin place."
We watched The Way, a beautiful movie by Emilio Estevez and his father, Martin Sheen. It is a story of a pilgrimage, a journey, a transformation. It is a story of friendship, parenthood, risk-taking, love, and death. It is a story of life itself.
I confess that I was a little nervous about my movie choice. After all, Daniel is 16 years old. He likes rap music and playing tennis, cheeseburgers and gatorade, professional wrestling and The Jersey Shore. What is he going to think of a movie about a few people walking an ancient pilgrimage across the northern coast of Spain? Will he care enough to put down his iphone and actually watch or will he bail out twenty minutes in and say he'd rather watch his biology video after all?
Before we watched the movie, I talked to Daniel about the concept of "thin places." Those places in the world where you feel like you are closer to God, to eternity, to that which is unseen but deeply known. Those moments when you know that you are not alone, that you are loved, and that, indeed, all shall be well. Those places and those times when you know that you know that you know that you are exactly where you need to be, and your body and soul quiver with recognition of the eternal, right there with you, within you, around you, next to you. Well, at least that what it feels like to me.
While we watched the movie, there was no texting, facebooking, or instagramming. No requests for bathroom or popcorn breaks. No rolled eyes. No sarcastic remarks. Just this Momma and her sweet son watching a movie on a Friday morning in February.
At the conclusion of one of the most poignant scenes in the film, he said, "That is definitely a thin place."
I smiled and thought - with a soul-shifting tremor - "Right here, right now, this bed of mine is a thin place."
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Something I've heard all my life...
Today I was reminded of something I've heard all my life.
Well, all the time in my life that I've spent in church.
Okay, all my life.
"All you need is Jesus. Whenever anyone says that you need Jesus plus anything else, they are wrong. They are talking about religion. They are talking about traditions. They are talking about adding on to Jesus. Jesus is all you need. All you need is Jesus."
This morning, Kristiana and I went to see Glennon Melton, the Mother Superior over at Momastery.com. She is undoubtedly one of the top five speakers I have ever had the honor of listening to. I thought I loved her and her wry, irreverent virtual voice as a result of reading her blog. But seeing her in person, hearing her actual voice, laughing with her, groaning with her, and seeing how she loves her amazing sister (who was there with her), I confess that I'm even more in love.
Anyway, Glennon reminded us of that saying, "All you need is Jesus."
Then she turned it on its head when she added - "I need Jesus and Lexapro and Twizzlers and diet Coke and cute stockings and..." that's when my pen lost track of her list and I had to stop and laugh out loud.
She provided numerous personal examples of how God sets our lives up so that we will need each other, need love, need friendship, need silence, need retreat, need safe spaces, need advise, need shoulders to cry on, need to sit at one another's feet and learn all that we are meant to teach each other, and sometimes we need licorice and soda too. I had to stop my pen at that point and grab a tissue.
Do I need to say that I have spent quite a bit of time this afternoon making my own list of stuff I need along with Jesus? Here's a partial list -
* someplace to live
* a car to drive in and out of suburbia
* clothes to wear and a few pairs of shoes as well
* money to maintain the lifestyle we have chosen
* red australian licorice
* uniball vision elite pens, micro point with black ink
* sweet potato french fries
* solo travel in Spain
* silent retreats in Pennsylvania
* moments when I can scream out curse words and spew hatred towards kanswer
* scarves and hats - especially now that I'm a bald kanswer warrior
* mojitos and lemon drop martinis
* the occasional bacon cheese burger with extra crispy fries
* time in Gibbs' living room with the fireplace lit
* Sharpie and Copic markers
* long phone conversations with friends who live across state lines
* the Real Housewives of Atlanta
* Law and Order Criminal Intent
* sensitive toothpaste
* Advil and Claritin
* toasted bagels with eggs and butter
* peanut butter cups
* long, slow hugs
* alone time, away from everybody, including my family
* my journals, oh sweet Momma Jesus, I would be lost without my journals
* help with occasional constipation
* cloth bags for when I go to the supermarket
* two or three bosom buddies who can handle it when I curse and cry, friends who don't ever, ever judge me
* coffee with milk and sugar
* over-the-knee socks
* books, the library, ibooks, kindle books
* my computer, ipad, phone, and the internet
* secret places to write my truly deepest secrets
* sandalwood incense
* cherry coke
* key lime pie
Again, this is only a partial list...
******
You would be surprised at how long I've felt guilty for thinking that I needed more than Jesus. I knew that the Bible said that it wasn't good for man (or woman) to be alone, but somehow that didn't seem to count when people said the thing about only needing Jesus. I knew that despite all my attempts to reduce the solution to my neediness to Jesus alone and try to make Jesus the answer to all my questions, I always came up with things and people I needed and questions for which "Jesus" wasn't the answer.
Like - what do you do when the diagnosis is kanswer or bipolar disorder or passive aggressive personality disorder? How do you respond when repeated requests for change go unheeded? How do you continue to be affiliated with an institution that believes that half of the people in attendance have nothing to say to the other half because of our gender? Stuff like that...
I'm not saying that anything or anyone else filled all the holes and empty places inside me, but I knew that Jesus alone didn't do it either. Loneliness persists. Needs persist. Emptiness persists. Even with Jesus. Even with a bone-deep trust in God.
Glennon made a great point - we have all these "holy holes" inside of us, all these empty places inside of us so that we will reach out to one another, create community, find others with similar empty spots and travel this life road together, seeking answers, seeking fulfillment, seeking love together.
Well, all the time in my life that I've spent in church.
Okay, all my life.
"All you need is Jesus. Whenever anyone says that you need Jesus plus anything else, they are wrong. They are talking about religion. They are talking about traditions. They are talking about adding on to Jesus. Jesus is all you need. All you need is Jesus."
This morning, Kristiana and I went to see Glennon Melton, the Mother Superior over at Momastery.com. She is undoubtedly one of the top five speakers I have ever had the honor of listening to. I thought I loved her and her wry, irreverent virtual voice as a result of reading her blog. But seeing her in person, hearing her actual voice, laughing with her, groaning with her, and seeing how she loves her amazing sister (who was there with her), I confess that I'm even more in love.
Anyway, Glennon reminded us of that saying, "All you need is Jesus."
Then she turned it on its head when she added - "I need Jesus and Lexapro and Twizzlers and diet Coke and cute stockings and..." that's when my pen lost track of her list and I had to stop and laugh out loud.
She provided numerous personal examples of how God sets our lives up so that we will need each other, need love, need friendship, need silence, need retreat, need safe spaces, need advise, need shoulders to cry on, need to sit at one another's feet and learn all that we are meant to teach each other, and sometimes we need licorice and soda too. I had to stop my pen at that point and grab a tissue.
Do I need to say that I have spent quite a bit of time this afternoon making my own list of stuff I need along with Jesus? Here's a partial list -
* someplace to live
* a car to drive in and out of suburbia
* clothes to wear and a few pairs of shoes as well
* money to maintain the lifestyle we have chosen
* red australian licorice
* uniball vision elite pens, micro point with black ink
* sweet potato french fries
* solo travel in Spain
* silent retreats in Pennsylvania
* moments when I can scream out curse words and spew hatred towards kanswer
* scarves and hats - especially now that I'm a bald kanswer warrior
* mojitos and lemon drop martinis
* the occasional bacon cheese burger with extra crispy fries
* time in Gibbs' living room with the fireplace lit
* Sharpie and Copic markers
* long phone conversations with friends who live across state lines
* the Real Housewives of Atlanta
* Law and Order Criminal Intent
* sensitive toothpaste
* Advil and Claritin
* toasted bagels with eggs and butter
* peanut butter cups
* long, slow hugs
* alone time, away from everybody, including my family
* my journals, oh sweet Momma Jesus, I would be lost without my journals
* help with occasional constipation
* cloth bags for when I go to the supermarket
* two or three bosom buddies who can handle it when I curse and cry, friends who don't ever, ever judge me
* coffee with milk and sugar
* over-the-knee socks
* books, the library, ibooks, kindle books
* my computer, ipad, phone, and the internet
* secret places to write my truly deepest secrets
* sandalwood incense
* cherry coke
* key lime pie
Again, this is only a partial list...
******
You would be surprised at how long I've felt guilty for thinking that I needed more than Jesus. I knew that the Bible said that it wasn't good for man (or woman) to be alone, but somehow that didn't seem to count when people said the thing about only needing Jesus. I knew that despite all my attempts to reduce the solution to my neediness to Jesus alone and try to make Jesus the answer to all my questions, I always came up with things and people I needed and questions for which "Jesus" wasn't the answer.
Like - what do you do when the diagnosis is kanswer or bipolar disorder or passive aggressive personality disorder? How do you respond when repeated requests for change go unheeded? How do you continue to be affiliated with an institution that believes that half of the people in attendance have nothing to say to the other half because of our gender? Stuff like that...
I'm not saying that anything or anyone else filled all the holes and empty places inside me, but I knew that Jesus alone didn't do it either. Loneliness persists. Needs persist. Emptiness persists. Even with Jesus. Even with a bone-deep trust in God.
Glennon made a great point - we have all these "holy holes" inside of us, all these empty places inside of us so that we will reach out to one another, create community, find others with similar empty spots and travel this life road together, seeking answers, seeking fulfillment, seeking love together.
I do need Jesus. Don't get me wrong.
My life without my faith would be a far emptier life, a far less meaningful life.
But I need a whole lot of other stuff and other people as well.
And I'm no longer afraid or ashamed to admit it.
Thanks, Glennon, for confirming what I always knew and felt but could never express so clearly.
Friday, February 22, 2013
A few places and times when I've been alone...
Waiting for the B37 bus to pick me up outside PS 307 after orchestra practice
Waiting for the B8 bus outside of the Veteran's Hospital near Poly Prep after basketball practice
Walking the ten blocks from the Cortelyou Road subway station to our house on Bedford Avenue
Sitting in a train car on the border between France and Spain in the middle of the night
Having my breasts grabbed by the conductor on that train a few minutes after entering Spain
Walking home from my boyfriend's house after the subway and buses stopped running in Madrid
Walking from Pochi's house on la Calle Irati to El Instituto Internacional, Calle Miguel Angel, 8, Madrid
Choosing and paying for my wedding dress
Pushing my daughter out of my uterus
Pushing my son out nearly three years later
Homeschooling them in the basement of our Norwalk, Connecticut, home
Staring at the television screen as the second plane hit the second tower
Standing at the American Airlines ticket counter less than a month later getting my passport stamped before my first trip to Italy
Walking from Il Duomo in Florence to the hotel three nights in a row
Racing up the stairs to the top of the bell tower in the duomo
Watching my child weep
Watching my father die
Sitting in St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican, listening, praying, still hoping He is The One
Receiving the news: "We found kanswer in the breast and lymph node"
Lying in an MRI machine wondering just how much kanswer those noisy magnets would detect
Closing my eyes every time one of the nurses inserts the needle that delivers the healing therapy into the port in my chest
Lying in bed at night, praying for healing, silent tears streaming down my quivering cheeks, wondering whether or not this dreadful disease will disrupt my life again
Hoping against all hope that it does not
Utterly and completely alone
**************
This list of lonely moments could go on; in my mind, it does.
There are moments when I am convinced that I have always been alone.
Certainly I have had companions alongside me for certain stages of the journey.
Parents, siblings, my husband, our children, my friends, and other loved ones -
they hug me, sit with me, call me, hold my hand, feed me, laugh with me, and weep with me too.
You write to me, pray for me, bring me food, and send me surplus barrels of hope when my supply runs dangerously low.
But in the end, in the beginning, and all along the way, I walk alone - and so do you.
Unless -
Unless God can be trusted.
Unless The Word of God can be believed.
Unless it is possible that even when we don't see, feel, hear, smell, taste or touch God,
God is with me. With you. With all of us.
Unless my Sweet Momma Jesus is walking with me,
asking what I'm thinking about and talking about along the way,
and then listening to my answers,
holding me close, loving me dearly and nearly,
through the silent nights, in the noisy machines,
along the rocky, narrow, and treacherous path of life.
Unless the Wise and Ever-present Spirit of God does guide me into all truth,
remind me of all I've been taught, and lead me beside still waters.
From Isaiah - Fear not, for I have redeemed you,
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you,
and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.
Do not be afraid, for I am with you.
From Deuteronomy - Be strong and courageous.
Do not be afraid or terrified because of (your enemies),
for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you or forsake you.
From Jesus - I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace.
In this world, you will have trouble.
But take heart! I have overcome the world.
I am with you always, even to the end of the age.
**************
On this dismal, drizzly Friday afternoon,
I ask but one thing of you, O Lord, my God, my Sweet Momma Jesus:
You know I believe you. You know I believe in you.
Will you please, please, please, help me conquer my unbelief?
And one more thing - please don't ever leave me alone.
Waiting for the B8 bus outside of the Veteran's Hospital near Poly Prep after basketball practice
Walking the ten blocks from the Cortelyou Road subway station to our house on Bedford Avenue
Sitting in a train car on the border between France and Spain in the middle of the night
Having my breasts grabbed by the conductor on that train a few minutes after entering Spain
Walking home from my boyfriend's house after the subway and buses stopped running in Madrid
Walking from Pochi's house on la Calle Irati to El Instituto Internacional, Calle Miguel Angel, 8, Madrid
Choosing and paying for my wedding dress
Pushing my daughter out of my uterus
Pushing my son out nearly three years later
Homeschooling them in the basement of our Norwalk, Connecticut, home
Staring at the television screen as the second plane hit the second tower
Standing at the American Airlines ticket counter less than a month later getting my passport stamped before my first trip to Italy
Walking from Il Duomo in Florence to the hotel three nights in a row
Racing up the stairs to the top of the bell tower in the duomo
Watching my child weep
Watching my father die
Sitting in St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican, listening, praying, still hoping He is The One
Receiving the news: "We found kanswer in the breast and lymph node"
Lying in an MRI machine wondering just how much kanswer those noisy magnets would detect
Closing my eyes every time one of the nurses inserts the needle that delivers the healing therapy into the port in my chest
Lying in bed at night, praying for healing, silent tears streaming down my quivering cheeks, wondering whether or not this dreadful disease will disrupt my life again
Hoping against all hope that it does not
Utterly and completely alone
**************
This list of lonely moments could go on; in my mind, it does.
There are moments when I am convinced that I have always been alone.
Certainly I have had companions alongside me for certain stages of the journey.
Parents, siblings, my husband, our children, my friends, and other loved ones -
they hug me, sit with me, call me, hold my hand, feed me, laugh with me, and weep with me too.
You write to me, pray for me, bring me food, and send me surplus barrels of hope when my supply runs dangerously low.
But in the end, in the beginning, and all along the way, I walk alone - and so do you.
Unless -
Unless God can be trusted.
Unless The Word of God can be believed.
Unless it is possible that even when we don't see, feel, hear, smell, taste or touch God,
God is with me. With you. With all of us.
Unless my Sweet Momma Jesus is walking with me,
asking what I'm thinking about and talking about along the way,
and then listening to my answers,
holding me close, loving me dearly and nearly,
through the silent nights, in the noisy machines,
along the rocky, narrow, and treacherous path of life.
Unless the Wise and Ever-present Spirit of God does guide me into all truth,
remind me of all I've been taught, and lead me beside still waters.
From Isaiah - Fear not, for I have redeemed you,
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you,
and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.
Do not be afraid, for I am with you.
From Deuteronomy - Be strong and courageous.
Do not be afraid or terrified because of (your enemies),
for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you or forsake you.
From Jesus - I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace.
In this world, you will have trouble.
But take heart! I have overcome the world.
I am with you always, even to the end of the age.
**************
On this dismal, drizzly Friday afternoon,
I ask but one thing of you, O Lord, my God, my Sweet Momma Jesus:
You know I believe you. You know I believe in you.
Will you please, please, please, help me conquer my unbelief?
And one more thing - please don't ever leave me alone.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Thankful Thursday
Today I am grateful for -
* the salad from Panera that was brought over by a dear friend - who also brought the soup that I will have for dinner
* strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow
* a lengthy and humorous telephone conversation with my oldest brother
* travel magazines, sharp scissors, glue tape, and empty journal pages
* daily reminders that I am loved, prayed for, thought about
* jumping up and down on my brand new rebounder (mini-trampoline)
* cozy couches where I can set up all my journaling stuff and let the creative juices flow
* the men and women who maintain the natural gas pipelines that keep my house warm during the winter
* the folks who make sure that the sewer system and electrical systems function relatively smoothly
* organic, raw coconut oil - the best moisturizer I've ever used
* Smooth Move Peppermint tea
* the engineers and developers who build our roads and bridges
* Engineers Without Borders who take their skills into towns and villages, like Bayonnais, Haiti, where their work saves lives
* my body's determination to fight and destroy the kanswer cells that have invaded it
* being reminded of the importance of taking good care of myself
* planning a solo museum visit and lunch at one of my favorite restaurants
* the beauty of the earth, the glory of the sky, the expanse of the sea
* cameras and phones to capture moments of beauty and light
* the love behind the emoticons and swirly lines
* trusting that at some point I will be able lay my questions down and live out the answers
* the power of prayer to calm my anxious heart
* being reminded of the promises and assurances in the Bible
But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed,
but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed...
Therefore, we do not lose heart.
Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.
For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us
an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.
So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.
For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
2 Corinthians 4:7-9, 16-18.
* the salad from Panera that was brought over by a dear friend - who also brought the soup that I will have for dinner
* strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow
* a lengthy and humorous telephone conversation with my oldest brother
* travel magazines, sharp scissors, glue tape, and empty journal pages
* daily reminders that I am loved, prayed for, thought about
* jumping up and down on my brand new rebounder (mini-trampoline)
* cozy couches where I can set up all my journaling stuff and let the creative juices flow
* the men and women who maintain the natural gas pipelines that keep my house warm during the winter
* the folks who make sure that the sewer system and electrical systems function relatively smoothly
* organic, raw coconut oil - the best moisturizer I've ever used
* Smooth Move Peppermint tea
* the engineers and developers who build our roads and bridges
* Engineers Without Borders who take their skills into towns and villages, like Bayonnais, Haiti, where their work saves lives
* my body's determination to fight and destroy the kanswer cells that have invaded it
* being reminded of the importance of taking good care of myself
* planning a solo museum visit and lunch at one of my favorite restaurants
* the beauty of the earth, the glory of the sky, the expanse of the sea
* cameras and phones to capture moments of beauty and light
* the love behind the emoticons and swirly lines
* trusting that at some point I will be able lay my questions down and live out the answers
* the power of prayer to calm my anxious heart
* being reminded of the promises and assurances in the Bible
But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed,
but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed...
Therefore, we do not lose heart.
Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.
For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us
an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.
So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.
For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
2 Corinthians 4:7-9, 16-18.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Catching up on my life, catching up on your life
We shared a rental home on the Isle of Palms with another tennis family, ate several meals with them, sharing great stories and laughter, walked on the beach with them, and commiserated over the bizarre rules and expectations of junior tennis players and their families. Such is the club we've joined; no one forced us, but sometimes it's crazy-making.
We all love the beach, even on windy days in February.
****************
Today I went in for the 5th of six healing therapy treatments. Yet another dear friend drove more than two hours to sit with me for the three and a half hours of infusions. We talked, laughed, groaned, ate lunch, prayed, and otherwise made the most of a pretty awful thing - kanswer sucks!!! All the while, I received texts and emails full of support, love, good thoughts, and prayers. Then I returned home to find more cards from still more friends in the mailbox. Last week and over the weekend. I received lengthy emails from people sharing their own stories with me. It is official - I have some of the best friends in the world. And am enormously grateful to receive their love - your love - and good will while I'm still alive and not at my funeral when only family and friends will hear it.
****************
Nearly every day, I receive an email or a text from someone asking for prayer or support with a problem they are facing or sharing a story of a challenge they have faced or are currently facing. And nearly every single person begins or ends with an apology of some sort: "I shouldn't be telling you at this difficult time in your life, Gail." "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. This is my problem to solve." "Where did this story come from? I haven't thought or spoken about this stuff in years."
Friends, sister-friends, soul-friends - please, please, please don't ever apologize for sharing your life with me or for telling me your stories. There is nothing about you that I don't want to know. There is no tale, no experience, no joy, no sorrow that I don't want to know or hear about. For some reason, you and I are walking together at this moment in our lives. Please don't think that I don't care what is happening to you now or what has happened to you in the past or, worse, that there isn't enough room in my soul for you at this challenging time in my own life.
If nothing else, this kanswer thing has shown me that there is a tremendous need for each of us to love and be loved, to help and be helped, to share and be shared with. We are all dealing with something that is causing our minds and souls distress and fear, so let's bear one another's burdens. Let's share our stories and live together with the questions, praying that someday we will also live our way into the answers. Just as the True Lover of My Soul demonstrated on his last night on earth, let us love one another to the end.
*****************
Life is short. Love is eternal.
Suffering breaks our hearts and spirits. Love rebuilds us.
Some memories remind us of painful times gone by. Love grants relief.
We are all heavy carrying burdens, my friends. Each of us. All of us.
We are all lying in bed at night wondering how we will survive it, whatever "it" is.
We are all desperate to be seen, heard, held, and welcomed home. Wherever "home" is.
If we choose to share our sorrows only when the designated listener has everything in order in his or her own life, then we will never, ever get to share our sorrows. So go ahead - tell me all about it.
I will catch you up on my life.
Please catch me up on yours.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Falling in Love...
Nothing is more practical
than finding God,
that is, than falling in love
in a quite absolute
final way.
What you are in love with,
what seizes your imagination
will affect everything.
It will decide what will get you
out of bed in the morning,
what you will do with your evenings,
how you spend your weekends,
what you read,
who you know,
what breaks your heart,
and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.
Fall in love.
Stay in love.
And it will decide everything.
Pedro Arrupe, SJ
***********
I discovered this poem this past August when I was at the 8 day silent retreat.
The eight days of silence with The One who loves me most.
I was reminded of it earlier this week when I received it in an email.
I am in deeply, madly in love with God these days,
with my Sweet Mama Jesus,
with the ever-present, ever-moving Sarayu, Spirit of God.
Sweet secrets, deep secrets, dark secrets, all sacred, always sacred.
On this day of celebrating love,
my prayer is that I will fall deeper in love
with The Lover of My Soul,
the one who holds my hand in this dark hour,
who wipes my every tear,
who hears my heart's deepest cries
and who is always with me.
No matter what.
No matter what.
than finding God,
that is, than falling in love
in a quite absolute
final way.
What you are in love with,
what seizes your imagination
will affect everything.
It will decide what will get you
out of bed in the morning,
what you will do with your evenings,
how you spend your weekends,
what you read,
who you know,
what breaks your heart,
and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.
Fall in love.
Stay in love.
And it will decide everything.
Pedro Arrupe, SJ
***********
I discovered this poem this past August when I was at the 8 day silent retreat.
The eight days of silence with The One who loves me most.
I was reminded of it earlier this week when I received it in an email.
I am in deeply, madly in love with God these days,
with my Sweet Mama Jesus,
with the ever-present, ever-moving Sarayu, Spirit of God.
Sweet secrets, deep secrets, dark secrets, all sacred, always sacred.
On this day of celebrating love,
my prayer is that I will fall deeper in love
with The Lover of My Soul,
the one who holds my hand in this dark hour,
who wipes my every tear,
who hears my heart's deepest cries
and who is always with me.
No matter what.
No matter what.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Not Another Manic Monday...
Not even close. Today is a marvelous Monday. A Monday marked by gratitude.
I am grateful for the beauty of the earth, for the glory of the orchid. I confess that the first thing I did when this plant was delivered last week was apologize to it for its imminent demise. I am notoriously neglectful of plants; I do well with chldren and dogs, but plants usually die slow and torturous deaths while in my care. I am glad to say it has survived for more than a week. In fact, there are more flowers on it today than the day it arrived. Around here, that is a very good sign.
I am grateful for the sunshine we have been blessed with recently. Much needed rain has also come, but when the sun is out, Maya and I head for the deck, each of us looking for a spot where we can bask in the sun. Furthermore, on the nights that follow the days when I get some sun on my face, I sleep very well. After a night of restful and restorative sleep, I wake up happy and even more grateful.
Heather sent me a photo of this prayer on her fridge. Amen, Heather, Amen!
And I am enormously grateful today (and everyday) for the gift of love. I had never seen a car decorated so brightly for Valentine's Day before, so I had to capture this one last Thursday night on my way home from a meeting with other church members who have gone to Haiti, hope to return someday, and in the meantime are looking for ways to continue to support the schools, the church, and the children there in Bayonnais.
I am grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful.
What are you grateful for?
I am grateful for the beauty of the earth, for the glory of the orchid. I confess that the first thing I did when this plant was delivered last week was apologize to it for its imminent demise. I am notoriously neglectful of plants; I do well with chldren and dogs, but plants usually die slow and torturous deaths while in my care. I am glad to say it has survived for more than a week. In fact, there are more flowers on it today than the day it arrived. Around here, that is a very good sign.
I am grateful for the sunshine we have been blessed with recently. Much needed rain has also come, but when the sun is out, Maya and I head for the deck, each of us looking for a spot where we can bask in the sun. Furthermore, on the nights that follow the days when I get some sun on my face, I sleep very well. After a night of restful and restorative sleep, I wake up happy and even more grateful.
Heather sent me a photo of this prayer on her fridge. Amen, Heather, Amen!
And I am enormously grateful today (and everyday) for the gift of love. I had never seen a car decorated so brightly for Valentine's Day before, so I had to capture this one last Thursday night on my way home from a meeting with other church members who have gone to Haiti, hope to return someday, and in the meantime are looking for ways to continue to support the schools, the church, and the children there in Bayonnais.
How great are those lights? How great is love?
Please hug somebody this week and tell them how you feel.
I'm sure gonna be doing that all week long - and beyond.
I am grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful.
What are you grateful for?
Wednesday, February 06, 2013
Wishing I could have a few bite-sized Snicker Bars
Living with kanswer is hard. Not many people around me know just how hard.
Everyone who knows me and knows I am dealing with this has been fantastic.
Visits. Cards. Meals. Books. Videos. Photographs. Emails. Stories. Distractions.
Amazing. Mind-boggling. Giggle-producing. Heart-softening.
But still... sometimes, I want someone who knows me well enough to know that I don't always need cards and stories, ease and comfort. Someone who won't flinch when I weep, who won't try to stop me from feeling what I'm feeling. Someone who is wise and strong, quiet and present. Someone who loves me unconditionally, who smiles at me through his own sorrow, who listens to me, who feels nothing but tenderness towards me. Someone who will pray just the right thing, quote just the right verse, and never have it sound trite, over-simplified, rehearsed, or condemning.
Sometimes I miss my father. He passed away in March of 2001 after a brave battle with lung kanswer.
Today, I texted that to my daughter while she was on her way to school.
This is what she wrote back:
I am sure he looks at you with a heart full of love.
He knows what it is like to live with cancer (her spelling not mine)
and I am sure he is sending down love notes in lots of different ways
every single day.
Needless to say, I burst into tears when I read her text. She's so right.
He does love me still. Perhaps now more than ever.
I sure miss him now more than ever.
I cannot even imagine how broken-hearted he would have been to hear that I have kanswer, to watch me go through healing therapy, and to know about all that is yet to come. One thing I know for sure is that he would visit or call me every day. Daddy would insist on being with me at every healing therapy session. He would drive me everywhere I needed to go. He would walk with me, talk to me, sit silently with me, and bring me bags of mini Snicker bars, even though I would tell him over and over that I need to stay away from sugar because sugar feeds kanswer. He would say, "One of these little bars won't hurt you." Then he would brighten my room with his mischievous smile, so we would each eat one - with me shaking my head and him laughing at my excessive caution.
After throwing the wrappers away, he would wipe his forehead with an ever-present handkerchief, look deep into my eyes, and say, "Gail, do you remember what God said to Joshua? (And then he would pull out his Bible so he could show me on the page.) In Joshua 1:9, God said, 'Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.' That's true for you too, Gail. God is with you everywhere all the time, even now. So be strong, girl. Don't be afraid. Don't let kanswer get you discouraged. God is with you. God loves you and I love you too." Then he would wrap those thin but strong arms around me and give me a long hug. And I would start to cry, just like I am crying now as I think about him.
I love you too, Daddy. And I miss you. More than ever.
Everyone who knows me and knows I am dealing with this has been fantastic.
Visits. Cards. Meals. Books. Videos. Photographs. Emails. Stories. Distractions.
Amazing. Mind-boggling. Giggle-producing. Heart-softening.
But still... sometimes, I want someone who knows me well enough to know that I don't always need cards and stories, ease and comfort. Someone who won't flinch when I weep, who won't try to stop me from feeling what I'm feeling. Someone who is wise and strong, quiet and present. Someone who loves me unconditionally, who smiles at me through his own sorrow, who listens to me, who feels nothing but tenderness towards me. Someone who will pray just the right thing, quote just the right verse, and never have it sound trite, over-simplified, rehearsed, or condemning.
Sometimes I miss my father. He passed away in March of 2001 after a brave battle with lung kanswer.
Today, I texted that to my daughter while she was on her way to school.
This is what she wrote back:
I am sure he looks at you with a heart full of love.
He knows what it is like to live with cancer (her spelling not mine)
and I am sure he is sending down love notes in lots of different ways
every single day.
Needless to say, I burst into tears when I read her text. She's so right.
He does love me still. Perhaps now more than ever.
I sure miss him now more than ever.
I cannot even imagine how broken-hearted he would have been to hear that I have kanswer, to watch me go through healing therapy, and to know about all that is yet to come. One thing I know for sure is that he would visit or call me every day. Daddy would insist on being with me at every healing therapy session. He would drive me everywhere I needed to go. He would walk with me, talk to me, sit silently with me, and bring me bags of mini Snicker bars, even though I would tell him over and over that I need to stay away from sugar because sugar feeds kanswer. He would say, "One of these little bars won't hurt you." Then he would brighten my room with his mischievous smile, so we would each eat one - with me shaking my head and him laughing at my excessive caution.
After throwing the wrappers away, he would wipe his forehead with an ever-present handkerchief, look deep into my eyes, and say, "Gail, do you remember what God said to Joshua? (And then he would pull out his Bible so he could show me on the page.) In Joshua 1:9, God said, 'Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.' That's true for you too, Gail. God is with you everywhere all the time, even now. So be strong, girl. Don't be afraid. Don't let kanswer get you discouraged. God is with you. God loves you and I love you too." Then he would wrap those thin but strong arms around me and give me a long hug. And I would start to cry, just like I am crying now as I think about him.
I love you too, Daddy. And I miss you. More than ever.
Friday, February 01, 2013
By all accounts...
By all my calculations, if all the notes I've taken over the first three cycles of healing therapy could be used to predict a pattern of some kind, today should be a pretty crappy day. I should be dragging myself around, moaning, groaning, whimpering, and praying for the end of the weekend.
But, thanks be to God,
thanks be to all of you,
thanks to all the prayers, candles, sitting, thinking,
thanks to all the plants, cards, notes, emails, texts, calls,
thanks to all the soup, rotisserie chicken, and banana bread,
thanks be to All that Is Good and Kind and Perfect,
I feel great today.
Unexpectedly energetic, perky, and grateful.
I woke up earlier than usual this morning with enough energy to write in my journal, read some, pray for a few minutes, and respond to a few emails. Then I made cornbread for my son and started a load of laundry. I spoke to a dear friend on the phone and tried to imagine what another is doing in Barcelona today. I encouraged my daughter to ask for what she wants in her personal, student, and work life. I've flipped through a couple of journals I recently made. I've read a few goodies on the internet.
I know enough not to over do it, and I also know enough to enjoy this moment, and be grateful.
I am enormously grateful.
I had a major "AHA" moment yesterday:
I can be splendidly imperfect during this process.
I can be grouchy and tired.
I can be grateful and happy.
I can miss appointments or not make them.
I can ignore phone calls or send dozens of texts late at night.
I can watch reality television and read books on faith.
I can completely neglect my housework or scrub every sink on a daily basis.
I don't have to plan for bad days. I don't have to plan for great days.
I can simply let it be, dear Gail, let it be.
I can stop imagining how _______ or ___________ or _________ would handle this situation.
I can lay down the measuring stick, the calendar, and the magnifying glass.
Comparison is a waste of time. There are no competitors. This life of mine is not a competition.
There is no one who can do a better job on my kanswer journey than I am doing.
There is no one who can mother these two children better (or worse) than I can.
No one can create the journals or blogs or meals or messes that I create.
Why do I waste so much time wondering what anyone else would do?
Heck, I don't even need to ponder, "What would Jesus do?"
Certainly, Jesus had plenty of problems to deal with when he was here on earth,
but dealing with breast kanswer while homeschooling a teenager,
walking with another child through her community college experience,
and comparing his front lawn to that of the other suburban families on the cul-de-sac
were not among his challenges.
I can do this kanswer/mothering/marriage/life thing exactly how I want and need to do it.
And that's exactly how I plan to do it - my way!
By all accounts, today should be a fairly crappy day.
But I am enormously glad that my account-keeping is faulty today.
But, thanks be to God,
thanks be to all of you,
thanks to all the prayers, candles, sitting, thinking,
thanks to all the plants, cards, notes, emails, texts, calls,
thanks to all the soup, rotisserie chicken, and banana bread,
thanks be to All that Is Good and Kind and Perfect,
I feel great today.
Unexpectedly energetic, perky, and grateful.
I woke up earlier than usual this morning with enough energy to write in my journal, read some, pray for a few minutes, and respond to a few emails. Then I made cornbread for my son and started a load of laundry. I spoke to a dear friend on the phone and tried to imagine what another is doing in Barcelona today. I encouraged my daughter to ask for what she wants in her personal, student, and work life. I've flipped through a couple of journals I recently made. I've read a few goodies on the internet.
I know enough not to over do it, and I also know enough to enjoy this moment, and be grateful.
I am enormously grateful.
I had a major "AHA" moment yesterday:
I can be splendidly imperfect during this process.
I can be grouchy and tired.
I can be grateful and happy.
I can miss appointments or not make them.
I can ignore phone calls or send dozens of texts late at night.
I can watch reality television and read books on faith.
I can completely neglect my housework or scrub every sink on a daily basis.
I don't have to plan for bad days. I don't have to plan for great days.
I can simply let it be, dear Gail, let it be.
I can stop imagining how _______ or ___________ or _________ would handle this situation.
I can lay down the measuring stick, the calendar, and the magnifying glass.
Comparison is a waste of time. There are no competitors. This life of mine is not a competition.
There is no one who can do a better job on my kanswer journey than I am doing.
There is no one who can mother these two children better (or worse) than I can.
No one can create the journals or blogs or meals or messes that I create.
Why do I waste so much time wondering what anyone else would do?
Heck, I don't even need to ponder, "What would Jesus do?"
Certainly, Jesus had plenty of problems to deal with when he was here on earth,
but dealing with breast kanswer while homeschooling a teenager,
walking with another child through her community college experience,
and comparing his front lawn to that of the other suburban families on the cul-de-sac
were not among his challenges.
I can do this kanswer/mothering/marriage/life thing exactly how I want and need to do it.
And that's exactly how I plan to do it - my way!
By all accounts, today should be a fairly crappy day.
But I am enormously glad that my account-keeping is faulty today.
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