A Few Days in My New Life...

What is wrong with this picture?

There are far too many things wrong with this picture to list them all here.

I want to say - the worst part is that I was walking into this building for care for myself.

But the worst of all the bad parts about this picture is the fact that this building even has to exist!

Kanser sucks!

My cousin sent me a lovely card, a booklet of Bible verses, and a $10 with my name on it.

Literally, my name was on it. 

And a day or two later, my name was on a $10 bill in a Starbucks cash register not far from my house. Yum, yum!  

I must confess that my taste is changing. 

The salted caramel white mocha was too sweet for me to finish. Yup - I said it: too sweet! 

Nope, that is not a typo. These taste buds of mine, they are a-changing.

Yours truly in her pre-surgical splendor early this morning. 

The nurse anesthesiologist said it would feel like they were putting margaritas in my IV. 

I should have told him that I prefer lemon drops - 

and it felt like he pumped five or six of those bad boys directly into my vein. 

Within 90 seconds of the injection... I woke up in recovery.

A few hours later, in the comfort of my own cozy bed. Port in place. 

Gathering my strength, doing research on the internet, trying to learn everything I can

about hair loss, chemotherapy, surgery, radiation therapy... 

and living a kanser-free life on the other side of all this.

On a much lighter note...

This photo caught my eye two weekends ago at my son's tennis tournament.

This sign was tacked onto the post of a pavillion at a local tennis park.

Seriously? A lost parrot? In a park?

We guessed that Blokie was already back in Africa, somewhere in the Caribbean,

or in the belly of a local owl.

How the heck could poor Olga think that someone would find 

and then capture a lost parrot?

In Case You Are Interested...

The love and support that I have received in these past two weeks has been wonderful, thoughtful, caring, tender, and remarkable.

Many friends and other loved ones have asked for specific ways to help us. Finally, I have come to terms with the fact that I will need help, and this afternoon my friend, Heather, and I set up a web page that you can go to in order to sign up to provide meals for our family during the upcoming months of kanser treatments.

Here is THE LINK.

And these are the codes you need in order to log in:

Calendar ID - 131973
Security Code - 7292

It is a pretty easy website to navigate.

I thank you in advance for any and all help that you are able to provide.


PS. Some of you who live far away have asked for things you can do to help.
Here are a few things that come to mind:

Never underestimate the value of a postcard, a note, or a card. I promise to read them over and over.

If you knit or crochet or come across something colorful and warm while out shopping, I will be needing lots of hats, scarves, mittens, and that sort of thing this winter. I have a pretty big head (or so I hear) and the largest hands of any woman I've ever come in contact with (by far), so don't be shy about sending the largest sized items you make or choose.

If none of those things send your heart a-racing, then feel free to surprise me with whatever you desire to send my way. I'm not going anywhere for a while. I'll be right here.

Again, thank you for your love, friendship, and for reading this rambling blog of mine.

Thankful Thursday

So much to be thankful for today -

* fresh pineapple

* that newborn baby smell

* access to great medical care

* before administering my flu shot and a pneumonia vaccination, my general practitioner said, "God is your healer and you are already healed. You just have to walk through these steps to get there."

* seeing this image in the conference room of the surgeon's office

* all clear results of the bone scan and ct scan

* a chiropractor who will work with me to rebuild my immune system after all this kanser (intentional misspelling here - I hate this word!) crap is behind me

* a newly acquired wardrobe of fun and funky hats

* decaf peppermint green tea

* teaching myself to drink tea without sugar

* an awesome book I'm reading called Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips

* photos sent via text

* benadryl on nights when I can't sleep well

* whole grain toast with butter, real butter

* fleece slippers and a heavy robe on cool autumn evenings

* dumping the water out of the dehumidifier and knowing that our house is a little less sticky

* feeling no guilt for watching Law and Order, NCIS, and The Real Housewives of Atlanta marathons

* facebook status changes, photos of friends, and funny videos posted online

* how much my little dog likes me to chase her

* homemade soups, especially the kinds I can make in less than an hour

* finishing up the class I was teaching at my church, "Religion and Joy" (Why don't those two words often occur in the same sentence? What steals our joy? How do religion and religious communitues often steal our joy? How can our faith practices restore our joy? How can we be people who are known for our joy? Stuff like that. It was a three class series.)

* recognizing that I couldn't stop teaching because of my diagnosis - after all, what is the point of "religion and joy" or faith and joy if I'm not living them out during the tough times?

* the people who came to the class, asked challenging questions, and participated in dialogue and discussion

* the outpouring of love, emails, texts, cards, letters, and goodies that my friends have lavished on me in the past two weeks

* a daughter who is also a gifted photographer

* being seen - scars, stretch marks, chipped finger nails, kanser and all

* being remembered

* being loved

"Do you still believe in God?"

* This blog post is gonna have a little salty language. So if you don't want to read any four letter zingers, you might want to skip today's post...


Last week, I sat with a dear friend and told the story of the current leg of the journey I'm on. She listened, asked questions, gave me invaluable information, advice, and suggestions.
Then she asked me, "Do you still believe in God?"

I said something to the effect of: "I can't prove that God exists. I can't. But I can tell you this: through every major crisis in my life, it has been my faith in God that has sustained me and brought me through."

The truth is that my faith has carried me through every circumstance of my life, good and bad. I'm not one of those people who only prays when the shit hits the fan (like right now), but I'm somebody who you might see mouthing words in my car - and I'm most likely praying. Just telling God about my day, my needs, my desires, my anger, my everything. I lay it all out there. I don't hold anything back. Someone recently told me that she thinks of me and God as BFFs. Best friends forever. I laughed. I hadn't thought of it that way.

I do still believe in God. I believe that God loves me and loves all of us.
I believe that there is a path for each of us to follow that leads us back into God's loving arms.

Do I understand why kanser happens? Why superstorms destroy entire neighborhoods?
Why tsunamis wipe out entire villages? Why earthquakes open the ground below us?
Do I know why mental illness ravages so many lives? And then others are left unscathed?
Do I know why children suffer from rare illnesses and never live beyond early childhood?
Do I know or can I explain why there is any suffering in the world at all if God is truly almighty?
Nope, I do not know. I do not know.


Yesterday, I had an MRI, my first one - and hopefully, my last one.
The noises were startling at first. But I settled my rapid heart beat by singing songs to myself.
Before long I fell asleep.
Apparently, not many people fall asleep in that tiny tube, but I did.

When I woke up, I was reminded of a verse I love from Psalm 3 -
I laid me down and slept;
I awaked, for the Lord sustained me.

And yesterday, that was the perfect verse for that awful moment.

Today, as I lay in the bone scan machine, I tried to think of what to sing to myself.
I tried to think of a way to pray, something to say.

"Lord, please don't let me have kanser anywhere else.
But then again, I asked to not have kanser at all.
And that didn't work out like I'd hoped.
I'm not sure what to pray today."

No nap in the machine today. I just lay there wondering. Hoping.
Trying not to move. Trying not to cry.


Today, after drinking something radioactive and having something nuclear injected into my veins,
after being told to wait an hour and a half for the first scan,
then escaping for a quick lunch at Panera
(Gibbs, I LOVE YOU MORE THAN YOU KNOW!!!)
before being subjected to another scan,
a new thought crossed my mind - Shit, shit, shit. I have kanser. And this shit sucks.

That wasn't the first time that thought occurred to me, but it's been rolling around in my head a lot today. A whole lot.

Do I still believe in God? You bet I do.

But the rest of the shit that's swirling around in my brain and in my body,
this body that has carried me, carried two children, and been such a joy to live in,
all of that other crap, I cannot believe it.
Not even one little bit.

Is there ever a good time???

This question is for the ladies in the house - is there ever a good time to get your period?
Is there?

I remember being a junior or senior in high school and going into the girls' room with a good friend. She went into the stall and, as she pulled down her pants, she said, "God, I hope I got my period."

I said, "What? Why would you want to get your period?"
Pause.
Then I said, "Oh, yea. Now I get it."
Gratefully, several years would pass before I had that thought upon entering a bathroom stall.

Fast forward to this past Tuesday morning.
The morning of what I had dubbed, "The Results Show."
You know, when we had to go get the results from the biopsy.
Steve said, "I hope that's not what they really call it."
I said, "Nope, but that's what I call it."

Anyway, on Tuesday morning, I got my period. "Great," I thought.
Of all the days to get my freaking period, why today?

Why Tuesday? Because God knew that I was gonna get that awful diagnosis.
And God knew that I would need to have an MRI, a bone scan and a CT scan.
And God knew that those tests need to be done within 7 to 10 days of beginning my menstrual cycle.
I will have the MRI next Monday and the bone scan and CT scan next Tuesday.

For those of you who don't believe in God, it's still a pretty awesome and awful coincidence.
A coincidence that now I am enormously grateful for.

Is there ever a good time to get my period? This past Tuesday was the perfect time.
Divine timing, my friends.
Divine, indeed.

Wonder-filled Wednesday

I wish I could cut it and paste it here. But please, please, please, go see THIS and tell Kristin how awesome she is. Tell her how beautiful her art is and how beautiful her heart is.

Tonight I taught the second of a three class series called, "Religion and Joy." I wrote tonight's class on "The things that steal our joy and how our faith, our 'religion' can restore our joy" on Monday afternoon - the day before receiving the diagnosis. Tonight, I told the class what is happening in my life and how I stand confident that my faith (along with medicine, surgery, love, and really good food) will help me sustain my joy and how, even when moss grows on The Rock on which I stand and I slip into the murky, churning rough waters of this messy life, I will climb back onto the rock and cling to it with all I've got, with all I can muster. Joy unspeakable. Wordless, speechless joy. (And a whole lot of "this sucks" thrown in there too.) They listened, they asked questions, they shared their stories, and they promised to pray for me and my family. Together, we can be a community of faith, of love, of wonder, and of joy. What else do we have to live for? What else matters?

Emails. Texts. Phone calls. Facebook messages. Voice mail. Someone brought me dinner tonight, even as she toted her one month old son with her. (I'm supposed to be cooking for you, Heather!) Somebody tied a red heart to my mailbox today. (I don't know who did it - but I love you.) I am bewildered, buoyed, and eternally grateful for the support and love that has been poured out and today is only Day One.

I feel enormously, deeply, life-affirmingly (I think I just made up a word!) loved tonight.

Your love, your prayers, your faith, your presence sustain and support me.

Thank you all.

My Life's Journey

That's the name of this blog.
It's what I do - live out the life journey that has been laid before me.

Today, my life's journey hit a hairpin turn, a speed bump, a pothole
- and whatever other cliche or metaphor comes to mind
when bad things happen to good people, bad people, and anybody.

I have cancer.
Cancer doesn't have me.
But cancer has come for a brief and unwelcome visit to my left breast and at least one lymph node.

There are a few things I'll be dealing with in the coming weeks and months -
meeting doctors, nurses, and specialists of all kinds
surgery
chemotherapy
radiation therapy
cutting my hair
drinking all kinds of juices
taking vitamins and supplements
accepting meals from friends, neighbors, and family
trying to respond to emails, texts, phone calls, and everything else that comes
living every moment to the fullest - even more than before.

I'll be writing and telling stories.
I'll be snuggling with my husband and kids.
I'll be buying hats and scarves - but not wigs.
I'll be wearing my big earrings, my boots, my skirts, but nothing pink.
I don't do pink - at least not yet.
I'll be walking in faith, in strength, in love, in courage.
I will also be crying and asking "why?" and then living my way into the answers.

I hope and pray that all of you will walk this journey with me.
As you can.
When you can.
However you can.

Forgive me if things go silent here every now and then.
Forgive me if I don't respond immediately to your emails and comments.
I will read everything you send.
I will gladly accept your prayers, kind thoughts, chanting, incense and candle burning.
Whatever you want to do on our behalf, please do it.
As far as I'm concerned, everything counts.
Everything counts.

Pardon my language here - this shit sucks.

But I'm gonna get through it.

I'm hanging on to a truth that I've written here dozens of times.
Hanging on to it like never before.
All shall be well.
All shall be well.
All manner of thing shall be well.

May God continue to have mercy on me, on my family,
on you, on all of us,
on all people everywhere.
But especially on me...

On a Far Lighter Note...

Earlier today, after enjoying a wonderful lunch prepared by my wonderful daughter,

I said: I'm gonna go upstairs and take a shower. I must smell like a barn animal.

Kristiana: Well, I like the smell of barn animals, so...

Me: So, you aren't a good gauge of whether or not I need to take a shower, huh?

Kristiana: Nope, I guess not.

I love that animal-loving, mommy-loving child of mine.

Timothy Kurek: Demonstrating Soul Force

Nearly a month ago, I received an e-copy of The Cross in the Closet, written by Timothy Kurek. In the book, Timothy tells the story of spending a year as a gay man. It sounds like a strange thing for a straight man to do, and indeed it is. But Timothy grew up in an extremely conservative religious world where people who were gay, lesbian, transgendered, or bisexual were openly condemned and ostracized. In order to more fully understand what such rejection felt like, Timothy decided to "come out" with his family, friends, and fellow church members and see not only how they would respond, but also how his entire life would change as a result of that declaration.

I grew up in a similar religious atmosphere to Tim's; in my religious community; homosexuality was taboo in all its forms. I was taught that homosexuality is a choice, and "those people" could choose to be straight, but for some reason they preferred their "perversions." I remember walking and driving through Greenwich Village in Manhattan and being told to "look neither to the right nor to the left, but look straight ahead." (In fact, I heard those words of warning often in my growing up time, but that's fodder for other blog posts...) Those words of warning were an open invitation to me to look in every direction, to stare, to wonder, to question, and eventually to be jealous because "those people" always looked like they were having a great time together. When I was offered the opportunity to read and review a book written by someone from a background so similar to my own on a topic that is not often graciously or lovingly spoken of or written about in the Christian community, I gladly accepted the offer.


Early in his year-long adventure, Timothy discovered a "gayborhood" in his home city into which he ventured for work, socialization, friendship, shopping, and eventually discovered a place within himself that welcomed the very same people he condemned earlier in his life. The Pharisee within him fought desperately to keep the hate and condemnation alive, but Timothy fought even harder to keep his heart and mind open to all that he needed to learn and experience during that year. His preconceived notions about the nature of friendship, flirtation, long-term relationships, and love between non-heterosexual people were all shattered. Early on, he shocked himself with his reflexive responses to the men and women around him - his anger, his suspicion, his fear and his hatred arose daily, sometimes hourly. With the passage of time, however, his love grew deep. His heart grew to be more tender. His soul grew in every way, in every dimension.

Soulforce is a gay advocacy group that Timothy encountered on his Christian college campus not long before he decided to carry out the experiment that the book describes. Soul force is what those young men and women displayed when they gently, patiently, lovingly warded off the insults, judgments, and belittling comments that Timothy and his college companions hurled their way.

Soulforce welcomed Timothy with grace and forgiveness when he joined their ranks for marches and demonstrations during his year of being "out." Soul force is what empowered Tim to listen to and be changed by the stories the protestors told about the danger, the fear, and the hidden lives that many gay people in this country and around the world live with and endure on a daily basis.

And once again, soul force was the means by which Timothy told the truth about who he really is, why he did what he did, and how his heart and mind were transformed during that difficult, love-filled, fearful, lonely, life changing year. Timothy found that the cross he thought he needed to defend from the closet was already firmly established in the closet. He learned that its power to heal, redeem, and restore is not diminished, even there.

I applaud Timothy's courage in taking such a radical step to spend an full year walking in the shoes of people he had hated and feared for so much of his life. I applaud his courage in writing this book, especially at a time when so many in the institutional church have again chosen to reject our brothers and sisters because of their sexual orientation. I hope this book arrives in many bookstores, libraries, churches, and eventually into many homes.

This book will challenge those who think they understand the religious right's view of homosexuality. This book will challenge those who think they understand the effect of the religious right's view of homosexuality on the homosexual community. But most of all, this book will challenge those who call ourselves followers of Christ, the One whose love drove him to the cross for all people, to truly follow Christ, even if that path leads us into "the closet."

Thank you, Timothy, for this powerful and challenging book.



PS. My only criticism of the book is that it needs to be re-edited in order to eliminate many, many spelling errors.

Thankful Thursday

Tonight I'm grateful for -

* slippers for my cold feet
* hair color and experienced hands to apply it
* beauty parlor stories
* learning about a drink called "Call a Cab"
* laughing as one woman said it should be called "Call an Ambulance"
* discovering the sweet goodness of Grand Marnier, orange juice, and an ice cube for a "nightcap"
* not needing a cab or an ambulance after drinking it
* homemade skin products
* health insurance
* incense
* the chance to teach a class on Religion and Joy
* helping people recognize that Religion and Joy can exist at the same time in the same place within each of us
* a new tube of lip gloss
* college football on Saturday afternoons
* honey and lemon tea
* homemade apple cobbler
* the chance to volunteer at a food pantry
* hugging those beautiful and grateful people when they get all their food in bags and boxes and head home
* meeting the other folk who gladly, humbly, patiently serve the clients at the food pantry
* sharing stories with a new friend about a mutual friend who passed away
* her courage in reaching out to me (I am enormously grateful for this one.)
* multivitamins from Earth Fare and chewable vitamin C tablets from Trader Joe's
* movies borrowed from the library - for free
* good news of friends getting their electricity back after power outages
* knowing that in only five days all the political ads and phone calls will cease
* Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert's humorous take on the election madness

A new perspective...

The first miracle attributed to Jesus was when he turned water into wine at a wedding party.

He asked some people around him to fill six large water jugs with water. Each one held between 20 and 30 gallons of water which was normally used for ceremonial washing.

Then he told the servants to give some of the water to the master of the banquet. Between filling the jugs and carrying some of the water to the master, the water turned into wine. The best wine of the night.

In that one act, Jesus transformed the vessels associated with rituals of cleansing
into vessels that contained 120+ gallons of joy-filled celebration.
Forget all the rules and regulations along with the somber, serious religious stuff.
Celebrate. Party. Dance. Rejoice and be glad.

It's not that life is gonna be easy all the time. Marriage can be one of the most difficult things in life.
But the engagement, the ceremony, the wedding feast - those are moments that are meant to be celebrated with gusto, with family, friends, and a lot of wine. Later on, when things get tough and we forget why we chose each other, we can go back and look at the videos. Flip through the photo albums. Remember those early days. And celebrate again.

Every now and then, I need to find a new perspective, a new way to look at what I see everyday, at the people I see everyday, the stories I read so often.

Every now and then, I need to pour myself a glass of something strong, take a deep gulp, and let the celebration begin again.

There is so much to weep over: the aftermath of the storm, homes burned, cars washed away, NYC hospitals being evacuated due to lack of electricity, mammograms that don't go as expected, and cracks in the facade and the foundation of otherwise strong homes.

But there is also much for which to give thanks. A roof over my head. Food in the pantry. Electricity powering our fridge and freezer. Clothing. Access to options.

I choose to focus on the latter, the blessings of life. And rejoice. So tonight I'm sipping a small glass of port, remembering the blessings of this day, and basking in my new perspective on this, my life's journey.

I am reminded of Jesus' words at the end of John chapter 16 - "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."

Here's to life, laughter, love,
to health, friendships, joy,
to hugs, peace, and hope for tomorrow.

The Best Story of All

People talk about vocations.
People talk about calling.
People talk about doing what they were put on the planet to do.

My vocation is motherhood.
My calling is motherhood.
I was put on the planet to raise the two amazing children I was blessed to give birth to.

The eldest of my two offspring is celebrating her 19th birthday today.
She arrived 15 days late... which was right on time for her.
She weighed 9 pounds and 1 ounce.
She was 22 inches long.
She was big and juicy, beautiful and strong.
She emerged from the womb ready to see the world.

This girl has been unstoppable since Day One.
She made up for her "late" arrival by crawling early, walking early, and talking early.
She hasn't sat still or stopped talking for very long since those early days -
and I mean that in a good way.
She has been to Puerto Rico, Nicaragua, England, Spain, Italy, at least 15 of these United States,
and she wants to see much more of the world.
She consented to being homeschooled by her mother all the way thru - from kindergarten through 12th grade. She never minded my frivolity, lack of organization, and easy distractability.

She developed and has maintained interests in horses, turtles, dogs, jewelry making, painting, journaling, reading, photography, babysitting, cooking, art history, writing, and laughing at my antics. She is one of the most creative people I know.

She has faced serious challenges during her teen years -
but I will let her tell her own story.
Or ask her permission to tell more of it here on the blog.
I will say this: when the shit hit the fan in her life, she stood unflinching and strong.
She didn't run and hide.
She didn't deny what was happening.
She still doesn't.
She is the bravest person I have ever known.

And today, I get to celebrate 19 years of raising her,
and being raised by her,
teaching her,
and being taught by her.
Today, it is my great honor and privilege to call her my friend.

Happy birthday, Kristiana.
Thank you for being the one who showed me
what my true vocation,
my calling is - being your mother.

From the first time I felt you kick me from inside,
I knew.
I knew you would be one of my best teachers,
one of my closest followers,
and I hoped that you would love me as much as I loved you.
Thanks be to God, that wish has come true.
At least, that's the vibe I get from you most days.

These days, I find myself behind you, following you, wondering where you will end up,
and cheering you along the whole way.
You rock, girl. You ROCK!!!


Even as I type this, your song is billowing around me.

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. 

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. 

**********

Your life, your courage, your beauty, your strength,
who you are, sweet and wonder-filled Kristiana,
gives me hope.

No one on earth loves you more than I do.



PS. I write this joy-filled post with a heavy heart. I am overcome with sadness and grief for all the suffering that is going on in the Northeastern states as a result of Superstorm Sandy. May power be restored soon. May homes be rebuilt. May losses be remediated. May sadness be alleviated.

Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.

Keep watch, dear Lord, with all who work or watch or weep this night.
Give your angels charge over those who sleep.
Tend the sick, we pray, and give rest to the weary.
Soothe the suffering and bless the dying.
Pity the afficted and shield the joyous -
and all for your love's sake.
Amen. 
(Taken from Night Prayer, by Robert Benson.)

47 to 47

My 47th birthday is 47 days from today.

Time flies - whether or not you are having fun.

Mercifully, for the most part, I have been having great fun.

Anybody who regularly reads this blog knows that I am enormously grateful for my life, 

for the blessings, the challenges, the joys, and the sorrows. 

I have been blessed indeed.

Approaching 47 years of age, I know that I'm in the latter half of my life. Honestly, I don't want to live to be 94 years of age; I know I would be a burden to a lot of folks if I get to be that old. So here is the truth: I am officially living into and through the second and final act of my life.

As Hurricane Sandy bears down on the east coast over the next two days, as I pray, plead, hope, light incense, and pray some more for the safety of all those that are in the storm of that path, I am reminded of the need to count our days aright. To live fully every day. To look up and enjoy the beauty around us - the birds, the trees, the rooflines of buildings we frequent, the airplanes overhead. To give thanks. To love those with whom we live, those to whom we have made commitments, and those whose paths we cross. We ought to smile at strangers, help the weak, and serve each other and the world. 

Anyone who has lost a home to a storm, had ancient, beautiful trees fall onto or near their homes, anyone whose sky is black with storm clouds, they would say - Sure, it's just stuff. But be grateful for it nonetheless. Enjoy it. Take none of it for granted.

Anyone who has lost a loved one to cancer, watched someone suffer with a chronic illness, or is awaiting a diagnosis, they too would say - Be grateful for health and strength. Eat well, exercise regularly, and enjoy your life fully. Every day.

During the next 47 days, I'm going to spend as much time as I can spare looking back on my life, journeys I've taken, storms I have survived, places I've lived, schools I've attended, lessons I've learned, remembering friends and other loved ones, sharing stories, favorite songs, books, and movies, and recalling as many moments as possible for which to give thanks. 

I close today's post with this blessing, repeated often by my dear friend, Kirk Hall, when he gives the benediction at church. These words echo deep within me today, on this 47th day before my 47th birthday. 

Life is short,

And we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of 

those who make the journey with us.

So be swift to love and make haste to be kind.

And the blessing of God, 

who made us, who loves us, and who travels with us

be with you now and forever.

Amen.

Henri Frederic Amiel (1821-1881)

I keep trying...

I read other people's blogs. I print out what they write and glue it into my journal. I read magazines. I watch Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, and even subject myself to Fox News for 90 seconds at a time - all in an effort to find out what is happening in the world out there. Mostly, the news is bad, sad, and heart-breaking.

After wiping the tears from my eyes, I promise myself: I've gotta get serious about this writing thing. I need to tell tougher stories. I need to confront bullies and blowhards. I need to set the record straight on mental illness, faith, women's issues, politics, race issues, war, peace, homeschooling, breastfeeding, prayer, marriage, the environment, parenting, travel, journaling, the institutional church, and other small issues like these.

Vatican City, 2008 

War sucks. So do poverty, hunger, sexual slavery and drug addiction. The economy in this nation and all around the world is faltering. People are losing their jobs, their homes, and their dignity every day. Those without medical insurance are forced to go to emergency rooms for assistance or to live with constant pain, creeping infections, and advancing diseases without relief. I have no idea what it feels like to send my children to school and not be sure if I'll be able to pick them up later for fear of deportation, but I know people who do know what that feels like. There are personal stories, individual stories that need to be told, that must be told. And I tell myself that I ought to be the one who tells these stories.

Nicaragua, 2008

I keep trying to get my act together and be a more consistent, more important, more widely-read blogger telling serious stories about serious topics. I keep on trying to go deeper and be deeper.

Haiti, 2012

But I keep coming back to the same place and the same topic: gratitude.

I am so doggone grateful for every good and perfect gift, every bowl of soup, every slice of bread, every cup of tea, every cookie, every roll of glue tape, every morning that I wake up with the roof still suspended above my cozy bed, every cup of pumpkin-spice flavored coffee, every push-up, every Tae-Bo inspired side kick, every Monday Night Football game, every conversation I have with my kids and my husband, every safe flight and car ride, and every keystroke on my computer, iPad, and blackberry.

Myrtle Beach, 2011

I am grateful for the changing colors of autumn, the clear blue sky overhead, the chirping of birds, the scampering of chipmunks, and the easy smiles my neighbors cast in my direction.

I am grateful for Staples, Cheap Joe's Art Supplies, Good Will Stores, Omega Sports, Rack Room Shoes, Michael's, and Barnes and Noble. I am grateful for gas stations, dry cleaners, shoe repair shops, bakeries, plumbers, electricians, gardeners, construction workers, the people who stock supermarket shelves, the truck drivers that move products and produce all over the country, and hotel cleaning staff.

Roma, 2008

I am grateful for the Bible stories of the woman with the twelve-year issue of blood, the prodigal son, the midwives who let Moses live, Rahab, Esther, Ruth, Bathsheba, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of Jesus. I am grateful for the imperfections in David, Solomon, Moses, Jacob, Elijah, Jonah, Peter, Judas, Miriam, Delilah, Jezebel, and Martha. I am grateful for how frequently I find my own story embedded in the stories of the Scriptures I hold dear.

Sevilla, 2009

I am grateful for my family - my husband, my children, my nieces and nephews, my brothers, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my mother and father, and the deceased grandparents I never knew. (Happy birthday, Lizzie. Make tomorrow a fantastic day!!! I wish I could be with you to celebrate your amazing, courageous, inspirational, musical life. You rock, girl. You absolutely ROCK!)

I am deeply loved, fondly remembered, and frequently hugged. The faces of my loved ones, the stories they tell me of their lives, the memories we share - I am overwhelmed with goodness, kindness, wonder, love, grace, and joy.


I do not mean to imply that all is perfectly well, because it's not.
I have very little contact with most of my family members.
I struggle with loneliness and the fear of being forgotten.
I wonder what I did wrong anytime someone doesn't respond to an email or text.
I worry about the bumps on my face and the dry patches on my legs.
I wonder if I'll ever lose what Anne Lamott refers to as "the fanny pack of flesh" that childbearing deposited just below my belly button.
I am reluctant to do breast self-exams for fear of finding a lump.
I wish we had more money in savings and six-figure bonuses coming in every year.
I wonder what we would do if a natural disaster destroyed our home or if the bank my husband works for went bankrupt.
I hope no one I love ever dies, not even our dog.
The "what ifs" wash over me in waves sometimes.

Madrid, 2009

I keep trying to stop worrying and let go of my fears.
I keep trying to write better, to write more frequently, and to write deeper stuff.

The truth is that we have more than enough money for the life we live and enough food in the pantry to feed us for quite a while.
I am in excellent health and always have been.
I'm almost 47 years old; bumps on my face, dry skin here and there, and a couple of inches of soft flesh around my midsection are badges of courage and medals of honor.
No marriage is perfect, but I'm enjoying mine more now than I have in years. And I realize that my previous lack of enjoyment was no one's responsibility to resolve but mine.
(A deer walked across the front lawn as I wrote the last sentence.)
I haven't done anything wrong; some people just don't want to be in contact with me anymore. Their loss, not mine.
I write just fine, just enough, and just what I need to write. I'm gonna let the deeper folks write deeper stuff. I will stick with my gratitude, my contentment, and my deep love for the rich blessings of the life that I have been given.


Life, with all its attendant mishaps and misunderstandings,
with its disappointments and failures,
with its alienation and isolation,
with its dashed expectations and unfulfilled dreams,
with its too-frequent moments when we say,"good-bye,"
and too-infrequent times when we say, "I love you,"
life is a gift.
And I am enormously grateful.

A statue outside the children's library here in Charlotte

"Everybody's Got Something..."

There is great beauty, deep love, unspeakable joy in this world. That is true.

But there is also great pain, deep sorrow, and unspeakable grief. That is also true.

Within moments of posting my Thankful Tuesday list last night, I read this story, posted by one of my favorite writers. My heart is broken for her and her family.

Someone I know buried her dog this past week... not the neighbor I mentioned last Thursday, another friend.

Someone else dear to me was recently confronted with the fact that her soon-to-be-ex-husband has already moved on.

Another sister of my soul and her three children have been abandoned by her husband; he chose a woman 20 years her junior as his new companion.

After years of panic attacks, another dear one recently decided to ask for pharmaceutical assistance.

His live-in girlfriend took her stuff, the cash he had in the apartment, the car he bought her, emptied their mutual bank account, and left him. 

Houses on the market for months while money drains to a dangerously low level.

Devastating medical diagnosis, surgery, rehab, medication - and the journey is far from over.

Her husband was diagnosed with cancer. Surgery. Fingers crossed that "they got it all."

Her mother had late stage breast cancer.  Surgery. They didn't get it all. She went back under the knife. Chemo. Radiation. Crossing the fingers again. 

Brain tumor. Kidney failure. Congestive heart failure. Unexplained fainting. Blood clots. 

Jobs still being sought.

Marriages disintegrate.

Friendships dissolve.

Children are anxious, broken-hearted, fearful of being told they are inadequate, wary of bullies, and terrified of going to school. Their parents feel the same way about their own circumstances. 

Here in our house, we say, "Everybody's got something." Without exception, everybody has got something they are facing. Everybody is dealing with something dreadful. Everybody is afraid of something. Everybody is worried about something. Everybody. Every single body. 

So here's my goal, my desire, my suggestion: 

Be kind. Be gentle. Be patient with everyone you meet. 

You never know what people are going through. 

You never know. You don't need to know. 

I don't need to know. But I can be kind nonetheless. 

I shall be kind all the more.

"Be kind; everyone you meet is fighting a tough battle."