When Goodbye Isn’t Really Goodbye

There are some people who leave fingerprints on your heart so deeply that time can never erase them. My dear, sweet Aunt Bonnie was one of those people. I have loved her for as long as I can remember, ever since I was old enough to understand that she was my aunt. Today, as I grieve her passing, I find myself thinking about all the years God gave us together and all the little things that, over time, became precious memories.

When I look back over those years, one thing stands out above everything else: I cannot remember Aunt Bonnie being angry. I cannot remember her speaking a harsh word. What I remember is kindness. I remember gentleness, generosity, love, and a woman whose life seemed to quietly ask, “How can I help?”

When we were children, Aunt Bonnie made sure we had Christmas presents and birthday presents when my parents couldn't afford them. We didn't know that then. Our parents never told us. We simply thought those gifts came because Aunt Bonnie loved us. Now that I am older, I understand just how much love those gifts represented. I wouldn't be surprised if she helped my parents in other ways, perhaps even lending them money when times were difficult. That was simply who she was. She gave without keeping score, without expecting recognition, and without seeking praise. She did it because she loved the Lord, and His love had found a home in her heart.

The Bible tells us, “Let all that you do be done in love” (1 Corinthians 16:14). Aunt Bonnie didn't just know that verse; she lived it. Her love wasn't loud or boastful. It was woven into the ordinary things she did for people. It showed up in presents beneath the Christmas tree, in birthday gifts, in helping hands, and in generosity given quietly when nobody else knew. Her life was a beautiful reminder that sometimes the greatest expressions of love are the ones given without an audience.

There is something incredibly beautiful about a person who gives simply because giving is an expression of love. Jesus said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35), and Aunt Bonnie seemed to understand that truth in a way that could be seen throughout the life she lived. She didn't give for glory or honor. She gave because she loved God and because she loved people. That kind of life leaves behind a legacy far greater than anything money could buy. It leaves memories in the hearts of those who were blessed by it.

And then there is the name.

Bonnie.

I have always been thankful that I was named after her, but today that name feels even more precious. The name Bonnie is associated with the Scottish word *bonnie*, meaning “pretty” or “beautiful,” and is also connected with the French word *bon*, meaning “good.” What a beautiful description of the woman who gave me the name I carry.

She was beautiful, not merely because of anything the world could see, but because goodness lived within her. Her beauty was reflected in the way she treated people, the generosity of her heart, and the quiet kindness she showed throughout her life.

I have often thought there aren't very many Bonnies anymore, and perhaps that makes sharing her name feel even more special. I don't just carry her name; I carry the honor of having been named after a woman whose goodness touched my childhood and whose love has remained with me throughout my life.

One day, when someone asks me where my name came from, I will be able to tell them about my Aunt Bonnie. I will tell them that she was one of the kindest women I have ever known. I will tell them about the woman who quietly gave when my family needed help, who remembered children at Christmas and on their birthdays, and who never seemed to need recognition for any of it. And I will tell them that sharing her name has always been an honor I will cherish for the rest of my life.

Aunt Bonnie entered the gates of glory today.

Goodbye hurts more than words can express. My heart is broken because I will no longer hear her voice, see her smile, or have the opportunity to tell her how much she meant to me. But even through the tears, there is something I know with certainty: I know where she has gone.

The Bible tells us, “For to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord” (2 Corinthians 5:8). I believe that with all my heart. Her earthly journey has ended, but it is not the end of her story.

I believe Jesus was waiting for her.

I believe the arms that were stretched out for her on Calvary were the same arms that welcomed her home. And perhaps there is something wonderfully fitting about that. A woman who spent her life opening her hands to give to others received the greatest gift of all today—the presence of her Savior.

So, Aunt Bonnie, though I have to say goodbye for a little while, I will not say it without hope. I will say it through tears, but I will also say it with gratitude.

Thank you for loving me.

Thank you for the gifts I didn't understand as a child but treasure now. Thank you for every kindness, every gentle word, every quiet act of generosity, and for giving me a name that I will carry with pride. Thank you for leaving behind a legacy of goodness that I hope will continue through those who loved you.

I love you with all my heart. Although my heart is breaking as I let you go, I know this isn't forever. Someday, because of Jesus, there will be no more goodbyes. There will be no more tears, no more sorrow, and no more parting.

Until then, I will carry your memory in my heart. I will thank God for the incredible gift of being your niece, and I will always be grateful for the honor of being your namesake.

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the precious gift of Aunt Bonnie. Thank You for allowing her life to touch mine for so many years and for giving me memories that I will treasure long after this earthly goodbye. Thank You for the kindness she showed, the generosity she gave, and the love she poured into our family. Thank You that her life was a reflection of Your love and that she gave without seeking recognition because she knew that the greatest reward was found in You.

Father, when my heart aches because I can no longer see her, remind me that death does not have the final word. Remind me that because Jesus lives, those who belong to Him will live also. Help me to grieve because I loved her deeply, but help me also to rejoice because I know where she is.

Thank You for the honor of carrying her name. May I live in such a way that when people hear the name Bonnie, they will see a little of the goodness, kindness, generosity, and love that she so faithfully lived.

Until we meet again, Lord, keep my precious Aunt Bonnie close to Your heart. And when that glorious day comes, let us find each other again at the feet of Jesus.

In the precious name of Jesus,

Amen.

Learning the New

There’s something both exhilarating and unsettling about starting over in a new city. Every street is unfamiliar, every turn requires a second guess, and even the simplest errands can feel like small adventures. Some days it feels exciting, like we’re explorers charting new territory. Other days, if I’m honest, it’s just plain overwhelming.

We haven’t found our rhythm yet, and one of the hardest parts has been not having “our people.” Back home, friendships were woven into our daily lives, easy, comfortable, and deeply rooted. Here, we’re starting from scratch. No familiar faces at the grocery store, no spontaneous coffee dates, no one who just “knows” us yet. That absence can feel heavy.

But in the middle of all this newness, there are small mercies, and I’m learning to notice them. For one, I’m incredibly thankful for GPS. What did we ever do without it? It’s been our constant companion, guiding us through winding roads and unknown neighborhoods, helping us feel just a little less lost. It’s funny how something so simple can bring such comfort.

We’re slowly checking things off our list. Next up: finding new doctors. It’s one of those necessary steps that makes a place start to feel more like home, even if the process itself feels daunting. Piece by piece, we’re building a new life here, even if it doesn’t quite feel like “ours” yet.

This past weekend brought a much-needed dose of familiarity and joy. Having my son visit, along with my youngest daughter and her husband, filled our home with laughter and love. For a little while, everything felt normal again. It reminded me that no matter where we are, home isn’t just a place, it’s the people we hold close.

So here we are, somewhere between lost and found. Learning new roads, hoping for new friendships, and trusting that in time, this unfamiliar place will become something more. Maybe even home.

Heavy hearts at Christmas

My dear friend, Joy, texted me a few minutes ago. She shared a lovely photo and asked how I was doing. I didn't want to tell her, but I did. I told her I was missing family members today. I knew she understood, because as we continued our chat, she said she was feeling the same way. And that's when I knew I had to write another devotional-

There’s a quiet ache that settles in during the days leading up to Christmas, an ache we can feel even if we don’t speak it out loud. While the world is twinkling with lights and singing “Joy to the World,” our hearts sometimes hold a different song. When someone we love is no longer here to share the season, everything feels just a little dimmer.

It shows up in unexpected ways: an empty chair at the table, a Christmas ornament that brings back a flood of memories, or a familiar carol that suddenly makes our throat tighten. We long, not just for the person, but for the warmth, the laughter, the presence that once filled a place no one else can fill.

And that longing? It isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s love. It’s the echo of a bond that even time and distance and death cannot silence.

But it is also a reminder that our hearts were created for something more than this world can offer. There is an unfillable void within us, one that even the happiest Christmas morning can’t satisfy. Only Christ can meet us in that place of deep sorrow and gentle hope, offering comfort that reaches beyond the ache.

God sees the longing, the tears, the moments we try to be strong but feel anything but. He knows what it is to love deeply, and He promises to be near to the brokenhearted, even in December, when the world expects us to smile.

Scripture:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (ESV)

Father, 

You know the heaviness we carry as we walk through this season without the ones we love. Thank You for seeing our tears and holding our hearts with tenderness. Help us feel Your nearness in the quiet moments when grief settles in. Fill the empty spaces with Your peace, and remind us that the hope of Christmas is not found in perfect moments, but in Your perfect presence. Give us strength, comfort, and a gentle reminder that love never ends. 

In Jesus’ name, 

Amen.

Everyday Devotionals ©️ Bonnie Annis

Thanksgiving

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving celebration with the majority of our family here. Everyone contributed to the food prep which was a huge blessing to me! 

It's hard to get used to having grown children who serve and cleanup without even being asked to do so. It took me a few minutes to realize there wasn't really anything left for me to do but sit back and enjoy time visiting. That was a real first and one I liked!

It was so good to hear the banter and laughter as we sat around a table full of love and goodness. 

We had turkey, ham, dressing, sweet potato casseroles, green bean casserole, hashbrown casserole, rolls, plaza bars, heavenly hash, pecan pie, chocolate pie, and key lime pie! It's a wonder we didn't all gain twenty pounds just looking at the food! 

With everyone spread across the state, it's often hard to get everyone together, but we did pretty good this year. 

Of course, we missed our parents who're no longer with us and we missed our Texas family members, but maybe next year we can manage a bigger gathering. 

Hopefully your day was filled with blessings and lots of gratitude. Ours sure was!
 

Missing the Glue

As the holidays creep closer each year, I feel a quiet ache—one that doesn’t come from shopping lists, overflowing calendars, or even the empty chair at the table. It comes from the absence of the two people who once held our entire family together: my parents.

When Mama and Daddy were alive, holidays weren’t complicated. There was never any question about where we’d go. We always knew. Their home—no matter how small or how crowded—was the gathering place. You didn’t even need an invitation. You just showed up, and you were welcomed. It didn’t matter if you came for lunch, dinner, or a quick hello. They were always glad to see you.

I can still picture it: cousins shoulder to shoulder, kids sitting cross-legged on the floor with plates balanced awkwardly in their laps, siblings talking over one another, laughter echoing off the walls. Someone always told an old story, someone always burned the rolls, someone always got their feelings hurt—and still, somehow, we were together. That house may have been tiny, but it never felt too small for love.

Now, with my parents gone, I’m realizing that it wasn’t the food or the decorations or even the traditions that made holidays special. It was them. They were the glue—the strong, invisible, unspoken force that kept us coming back, kept us connected, kept us family.

These days, everyone has their own plans, their own quiet celebrations, their own little bubble. No one is to blame; it’s just life. But sometimes, even surrounded by people I love, I feel like a wobbly chair missing a leg—like I’m longing for that strong, familiar glue to hold us together again.

I miss being able to just pop in at my parents’ house, no appointment needed, no text message asking, “Are you home?” They were always there, arms open, lights on, ready to listen or just sit with you while you ate leftovers at the kitchen counter. They didn’t need a reason to be glad you came.

That kind of unconditional welcome is rare. And once it’s gone, you feel the empty space it leaves behind.

Regret is a quiet thing—it doesn’t scream, but it lingers. There are conversations we can’t go back and finish, moments we can’t recreate, apologies that never got spoken. You learn, in time, that you can’t fix what’s past. You can only carry it, learn from it, and try to love better moving forward.

I guess that’s what I’m trying to do. I can’t bring back Mama or Daddy, and I can’t make the family gather the way we once did. But I can hold onto what they taught us: that love doesn’t need perfection, that a small house can hold a big family, and that a warm welcome is one of the greatest gifts you can give.

Maybe it’s our turn now. Maybe we become the glue.

Until then, I’ll keep remembering the way it felt to walk into that familiar house—crowded, noisy, sometimes chaotic, but always full of love. And I’ll keep missing them, not just because they were my parents, but because they showed us what family really looks like when everyone shows up.

Dear Lord,

Thank You for the precious gift of family and for the memories that time cannot erase. Thank You for the parents who shaped us, taught us, and loved us well. Help us carry forward their legacy of open doors, warm welcomes, and unconditional love.

When grief tugs at our hearts and change feels heavy, remind us that You are the One who holds every family together. Teach us to love generously, forgive quickly, and gather joyfully, even when things aren’t the way they used to be.

Give us the courage to become the glue—to offer the same comfort, acceptance, and unity that once held us close.

In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

Random musings © Bonnie Annis

A Thanksgiving Tradition, Southern Style

Back when I was growing up, Thanksgiving at our house was no small production—it was an event. Mama ran the show from start to finish, and heaven help the soul who dared to step foot in her kitchen once she got started.

A few days before the big day, she’d head down to our local grocery store—back then it was called Foodtown, though it’s Thriftown now for reasons I’ll never understand. She’d come home with a 12- to 15-pound turkey that looked big enough to feed the entire congregation, a huge bunch of collard greens, a bag of cornmeal, a dozen eggs, milk, butter, and a couple cans of pumpkin for her famous pie.

Mama always said Thanksgiving dinner didn’t just happen—it took elbow grease, timing, and a good dose of don’t you dare get in my way. She didn’t want help, and we all knew better than to offer. I used to love watching her wrestle that big old bird into the roasting pan, smearing butter under its skin like she was tucking it in for a long winter’s nap. She’d pop it into the oven in the wee morning hours while the rest of us were still dreaming about the feast to come.

A day or two before, she’d tackle the collard greens. Lord, I hated that smell—it would hang in the air for hours, seeping into every curtain and cushion in the house. But everyone else loved them, so I learned to just breathe through my mouth and wait it out.

Then came the cornbread. Mama would mix cornmeal, eggs, and buttermilk in her big glass bowl, her small hands moving fast, turning that mixture into gold. By the time she was done, her hands would be red as tomatoes from washing them in water so hot it could peel paint. I used to wonder if that was her secret ingredient—fiery determination and water that could boil eggs.

When the kitchen smelled like heaven and everything was ready, Mama would call one of us kids in to set the table. We never quite knew how many people were coming because Mama had a habit of inviting half the neighborhood and any stray cousin who might be within a 50-mile radius. “The more, the merrier,” she’d say, and somehow there was always enough to go around.

When it came time to bless the food, Mama took charge. Daddy wasn’t much for praying out loud, but he sure did love to wrestle us kids for the pully bone afterward. He called it “settlin’ things the old-fashioned way.” Somehow, he always won.

It was hot in that kitchen from the oven working overtime, but nobody minded. The windows would fog up, laughter would fill the air, and plates would overflow with turkey, dressing, greens, and love.

Looking back now, I realize Mama wasn’t just cooking a meal—she was serving up tradition, faith, and family. She made sure we knew that Thanksgiving wasn’t just about the food on the table but about the hearts around it.

And if I close my eyes, I can still hear her saying, “Now y’all hush and bow your heads—we’re gonna thank the Lord proper.”

Dear Lord, thank You for the hands that cook, the hearts that gather, and the memories that keep us warm long after the dishes are done. Thank You for family—by blood and by choice—and for every blessing that fills our plates and our souls. Help us to carry gratitude not just on Thanksgiving, but every day we’re given breath. And Lord, if You don’t mind, could You make sure Mama’s kitchen up there has plenty of butter and just the right size turkey? Amen.

Random Musings © Bonnie Annis 2025

Simple things can spark big memories

 

On Resurrection Sunday, one of the most holy days for believers, we made plans to attend one of my daughter's churches. It was also going to be a very special day for me because my youngest granddaughter was getting baptized. 

 

As I got ready for church, I was going to wear a dress. Since the weather had turned warmer, there was no need to wear slacks anymore. But there was a problem. My legs were lily white. I hadn't been in the sun much and those limbs would be visible, even if I wore a mid-length skirt as I usually did.

Digging in my drawer, I looked for a pair of panty hose. I hadn't wore any in ages. I hated them! No luck. So what was I to do? Tights, yes! I had a pair of black ones. 

 

I took them out and looked at them. They'd only been worn once. They were thin, more like hose than regular tights which were thicker. I knew, with my rough hands, I'd surely snag them when donning them, so I dug in the drawer again. I knew they were in there somewhere...my mother's satin gloves.

When we were growing up, I used to laugh as I'd walk by her bedroom door as she got dressed for church. She'd be wiggling into her panty hose trying not to snag them. After getting a run or two, she'd throw those away and then, she'd slip on a pair of satin gloves and start over smiling as she pulled them on without any issues. Afterward she'd don a griddle so cinch in her waist and hips. Boy, she went all out to look her best, even though it took a great deal of effort to prepare before hurrying us all into the car so we wouldn't be late. 

 

As I slipped on the gloves, I thought of all the Easters she worked so hard to make ours special. We always got frilly little dresses, lace topped socks, and shiny, black patent leather shoes. My brother got a cute little suit and tie. We looked polished and spit shined when we graced the church doors. 

 

After service, we had an Easter egg hunt with homemade boiled dyed eggs. Often we'd have a prize egg with a dollar or two in it. And those baskets with the skinny plastic green grass- so special! 

 

I got my tights on without a snag and headed out to my daughter's church for a most special service. Watching my sweet granddaughter descend into the baptismal pool, stand with the pastor and pray, then be dunked beneath the refreshing waters was amazing. But what touched my heart most was watching her rise, thankful...renewed...spiritually one with Christ. 

 

After her Mama had gotten her dried off and dressed again, she came out from behind the baptistry and had given me the bestest and biggest hug ever. "I love you so much, Sweet Pea," I whispered in her ear. Then I handed her a gift bag with a tiny silver cross inside. I told her I wanted her to wear it to remind her of this special day - the day she was baptized, but also the day we celebrated the resurrection of our Lord. She smiled and gave me another hug before telling me she loved me, too. 

 

I could almost see Mama smiling down from heaven. I was thankful she'd made sure to always see that we'd grown up under godly teaching. Being raised in the church is special, but learning who we were in Christ was even more important. And we did! 

 

I am so blessed all of my children and most of my grandchildren have already made professions of faith. We're still praying for the youngest ones to come to a saving knowledge of the Lord. If you have unsaved loves ones, please don't ever stop praying for them. It make take years for them to make the decision to let the Lord reign and rule over their lives. Your prayers can make a huge impact on them, but your godly example can speak volumes to them, too. And who knows, maybe something as simple as a satin pair of gloves will bring back special memories to them one day like my Mama's did for me. Love them hard and don't apologize for it, ever.

Make time for the ones you love

I have four children whom I dearly love, but it's hard to spend time with them because none of them live close. And while I do my best to be part of their lives through phone calls, texts, and emails, I'd rather see them in person on a daily basis like I did when they were younger and all lived at home. I understand they're grown and have their own lives. I'm proud of each of them and know they're busy with their own families, but I still need them. 

My youngest daughter is in constant touch. I get phone calls every day and our relationship is just about as tight as it always was but with the others, it's a challenge. My son works 2 jobs and is now spending time running back and forth helping take care of his grandchildren. My oldest daughter lives in another state and is always busy with her 5 children and their extracurricular activities. My middle daughter only lives about an hour away, but homeschools her daughter and spends a lot of time serving in her church. All of them stay busy and I do my best to respect their time, but occasionally, am needy. That's why I reached out and established a monthly Mother Daughter day. I wanted to schedule a time to devote solely to her. Middle children always seem to get the shaft and it's not fair. I wanted to remedy that. 

When I mentioned the concept to her, she readily agreed it would be fun. So for the past few months, we've looked at our calendars and figured out a day that worked best for each of us. Yesterday was our special day and we both looked forward to it. 

When she arrived, I was so happy to see her. After a big hug and a quick goodbye to my hubby, we headed out to lunch. It was nice to get out and catch up over a good pizza and then do some shopping. When the day was over, I was sad. I wanted more time but understood she had to get back home to her waiting husband and daughter. 

Growing old is hard. Having grown children who live far away is even more hard, especially since all I knew, for the majority of my life, was being a mother. I loved it with all my heart. This season of life is interesting. While I enjoy spending time with my husband doing the things we enjoy doing, I still need my "kid fix" every day. 

I don't like living so far away from the kiddos and hope, in the near future, to move closer to one of them. As we grow older and our health declines, we're going to need someone to help us out. That time seems to be quickly approaching. 

I'm so thankful God allowed me to have 4 beautiful children, 9 very special grandchildren, and 2 great grandchildren. My quiver is definitely full! I don't know what I'd do without them. 

30 minutes isn't long enough

Today I watched the online service for my ex sister-in-law. She lived in Canada and I wasn't able to attend in person, but thankfully, her girls sent me a link so I could watch online. A lot of people may not understand caring for an ex relative. Divorce is supposed to sever all of those ties, right? But that's not always the case. 

On February 1, I got a Facebook message from one of my ex nieces. She told me her mother's condition was grave and I might want to call before it was too late. I wasn't shocked by the call. For several years, her Mom had been in an assisted living facility and had been struggling with many health issues. We'd stayed in touch during that time and had been sporadically in touch since 1974 via phone or mail, but with the invention of Facebook, we touched base several times a day. 

When we first met, over 50 years ago, I was thrilled. I'd never had a sister in law before. She was like a big sister to me and though she wasn't that much older than me, I wanted to be like her. We had so much in common - our love of crocheting, sewing, and many other types of crafts. We didn't get to see each other often, since distance was an issue, but when we did, we made the most of our time doing things we loved. 

Once, shortly after my first husband and I married, she and her husband came down to spend the week with us. They traveled from Vermont all the way down to Georgia. It was such a fun week as we cooked together, played card games, and ran around sight seeing. When it was time for them to leave, we made a promise we'd see each other again soon, but that never happened due to several things. Her husband passed away and I got divorced. 

We passed gifts to one another back and forth through mail, always trying to find something unique and fun. It was a way of letting each other know we still loved and cared for one another. Once she made me a beautiful crocheted sweater and sent it to me for Christmas. I wore that thing until it fell apart. And who knows how many mugs we went each other - personalized with both our names, so we'd never forget. Now she's gone. 

During that last phone call, I could tell she was struggling to breathe. She'd been on oxygen for a long time because of COPD and other issues, but I hadn't expected the constant breathlessness as we talked. At one point, I was so worried about her talking, I asked her to stop and rest. I wanted her to take a break, not only for herself, but also for me. It made me extremely anxious hearing her struggle for air. During that time, I recounted old memories and she'd giggle as she remembered. Before we hung up, I told her I loved her and wanted her to keep fighting. I had no idea she'd die the next morning and when I got the news, I was heartbroken. Not only for her girls, but also for her second husband. I also beat myself up because I hadn't thought to share the plan of salvation with her. Instead of reminiscing, in an effort to make her laugh, I should have been more concerned about where she'd spend eternity. I've tried to take solace in knowing she was raised in the Catholic faith, but I still feel I let her down. 

The service was streamed and only lasted about 30 minutes. During that time, a very young priest did his best to give a nice sermon. Since he'd never met my ex sister-in-law, he only knew what the family had shared with him. He did an okay job, but could have done better. 

I was so sad to see her urn sitting on a wooden table at the front of the funeral home. There was one very small floral arrangement there. Before the "service" began, a quick slide show was presented. There weren't even 35 photos...it was so sad. 

The camera was angled toward the front pew. Sitting there were her 2 daughters and one son in law. I couldn't help but watch them as the priest talked. One of the girls was very distraught. The other was doing her best to be strong. 

30 minutes. That's all she got. This wonderful friend, wife, mother, grandmother, sister, and aunt...half an hour. It seemed ludicrous to me. How can you honor someone who's lived and loved for 74 years and sum it up in 30 minutes? But that's all she got and that made me wonder how much time I'll get when I leave this Earth. Will my family take time to celebrate my life? I hope so. Will they be devastated at my leaving? I assume so, but I also hope they'll be happy for me - that I'll have no more pain or suffering. I've been through an awful lot of that throughout my life. 

When I die, I plan to be cremated. I've already got my urn. I bought it at an antique sale held by the mega church I used to work for many years ago. It's a lovely shade of turquoise and I got it for $5 - what a steal! I told my husband and the kids I wanted to have my ashes put in the urn and then, whenever they were ready, I wanted to be taken to one of our favorite camping spots - Cumberland Island, and be sprinkled there at Sea Camp beach. 

I don't really care if I get more than 30 minutes but I do hope they take time to remember good things about me. I've tried to live my life well and live it to the fullest - despite criticism, hurt, and pain from those who didn't even try to understand me. And many of those have been family members who say I use things I experience as "fodder" for my blog. It hurts to know they feel that way, but blogging is cathartic and healing for me. I don't force any of them to read what I write. 

I'll miss my sweet friend and ex sister-in-law. She was a good person and she will be greatly missed. 30 minutes doesn't seem like a long time down here, but up in heaven, I imagine it would feel like an eternity. I pray I'll see her there one day and if I do, we're going to do a lot of catching up.

Celebrating a milestone in our family

This weekend we had the privilege of celebrating our great grandson's first birthday. It was a joyful event and we were so proud to be invited to be a part of it. 

It's hard to believe we're now great grandparents! Just saying that makes me feel so old! I never dreamed, when I had my first child at 19 that I'd have great grandchildren 49 years later, but I'm kind of glad I started my family early. Some people aren't great grandparents until they're close to 80 or 90. We're the lucky ones! At least we're still in possession of our mental faculties, that's a huge plus. 

I used to look at old black and white photos of family members when I was a child - you know, the ones with a dozen or more people in them? I marveled, as I looked at each face, how much each family member resembled another. I can see some of that in this photo, too. 

I don't think kids nowadays think about bloodlines much. I don't think they value the importance of family either, at least not in the way we did when I was growing up. We were brought up to revere our elders. We always said, "Yes, Ma'am or No Sir." Politeness mattered. These days it seems many of the younger generation take so much for granted with regard to their elders, and it's a shame. 

When I was growing up, I loved listening to the stories my elders shared. I wanted to learn about our family history and how I fit in. I wish the current and future generations would feel the same way. After all, we have to so much to share...if they'd only take an interest and take time to listen. 

I hope my grandchildren and great grandchildren will want to know more about me as they grow up. I have a great many stories to tell. 

 

A different Thanksgiving

 

This was the first Thanksgiving we didn't have any of the kids or grandkids with us. Since we were going to be alone, we planned on having a quiet day here but just as were about to finalize those plans, we got an unexpected invitation from my husband's cousin. After mulling it over for a few minutes, we decided to accept. Why spend time alone when we could be with others? 

We drove out the country and as we pulled down the long gravel driveway, were instantly met by 4 large, black Pit Bulls. They ran in front of our car and were trying to bite the tires. As we tried to inch forward, they'd run and dart in front of us. We were afraid we'd hit one so we began honking the car horn, hoping the owners would come out and call them off, but they never did, so we proceeded praying we wouldn't kill one of the beasts. 

We kept driving down the long road and finally reached his cousin's house. When we pulled into their garage, one of her sons came out to greet us. He asked if the neighbor's dogs had bothered us and before we could answer, the hounds of hell were right there beside us! We're both petrified of Pit Bulls, so we quickly closed the car door. Our cousin's son told us the dogs were harmless and we could get out. Trusting him, we opened the door slowly and climbed out with our prepared additions to the Thanksgiving meal. 

Inside was a group of about a dozen people, more than we expected. We met everyone and sat down at a long buffet table to pray and eat. It was a little overwhelming to be among strangers. I'd only met Connie (Phil's cousin) once or twice before at some of his relatives funerals. 

When we'd finished eating, Gene, Connie's husband asked if we'd like to go to his shop and see his antique car. We were excited to leave the commotion of the gathering and sneak off to a quieter place. 

Gene took me in his golf cart up to the shop. (He has a prosthetic leg and walking on uneven terrain is difficult for him. It's difficult for me, too! I'm supposed to have a total knee replacement so I've been wearing a brace for the past year and a half.) 

When we got to the shop, we were amazed! The shop was huge and had 3 bays. Gene has been working on cars since he was 13 and has restored many older vehicles. Sitting in the first bay was his pride and joy, a 1965 Mustang Fastback. It was in pristine condition and fire engine red. I wanted to drool when I saw it! When I was in highschool, I'd always wanted a 1965 Mustang. Several of my friends' parents had bought them cars and many of them were Mustangs. I knew I'd never be able to get one. My parent's couldn't afford such a luxury and I'd just started working. I didn't have enough money to buy one on my own so I tucked that dream deep in my heart hoping one day I'd get one. 

Gene told us all about the car and told us about the many trophies he'd one for car shows he participated in. All over the shop walls were various automobile tags from the 1930's on up and from all over the world. Gene said he collected them and his wife would often find them on Ebay for him. They were very interesting. 

After visiting a little longer, we left to get home before dark. We were thankful they'd included us in their holiday although we really missed our own family. 

 

Realizing the brevity of life

This weekend, I was able to meet my first great grandchild for the first time. It was an awesome experience, but humbling as well. It was difficult to grasp the fact that I'm a great grandmother. Who ever thought I'd become one at such a "young" age? 

Looking at my cute little great grandson, I could easily see my grandson in him - those eyes, wow...it reminded me of when my grandson was that little and got to love on him. 

It also reminded me that life is going by in a huge hurry and I'd better grab every second of every day before they slip away. 

As I watched my great grandson tug on my husband's beard, I felt a huge tug on my heart strings. More than likely, we won't be around to see this little guy grow up, but hopefully we'll still get to be a part of his life through photos - at least for a little while. 

When I had my children, I never gave much thought to one day becoming a grandmother much less a great grandmother! I was so tuned in to making sure they were happy and healthy I couldn't think about anything else. 

Looking back now, I realize those first 18 years of life with each of my 4 children were flying by. I just didn't realize how quickly they'd go...

The Bible says our life is like a vapor, here today and gone tomorrow. I believe it. 

These days life keeps us so busy we can barely focus on things of importance. That's why I'm making a resolution right now to become more intentional about spending time with my children and great grandchildren. 

I'm still trying to learn to be present in the moment. Perhaps I have a little touch of ADD or ADHD because my focus shifts so quickly all the time. Or, maybe it's due to my life post cancer. When I was diagnosed, I told myself I wouldn't let a day pass without using up every minute of it and that's what I've tried to do for the past 10 years - sometimes to my detriment. 

If you could see my office or my art room right now, you'd shudder. I have projects everywhere! I bounce from one thing to the other and then before finishing one of those projects, I start another. I know, I know...I'm working on it. 

I'm so thankful to be part of this little guy's life. I hope I live long enough for him to get to know me. He'll probably think he's got the whackiest Great Grammie around, but that's okay. I'll love him anyway.
 

Father's Day Memories

 

Daddy was a Sergeant 1st Class

I miss my Daddy every Father's Day. He was one of the most unique people I ever knew. Though quiet and pensive most of the time, the wheels of his mind were constantly turning. How do I know? I watched him like a hawk. 

I learned so much from watching my Daddy. As I grew up, I found one of the best ways to gain his time and attention was to be where he was. If he was under a car, working on something like changing the oil, I crawled under with him asking him a million questions - "What are you doing, Daddy?" "Why are you doing that?" Usually, he'd let me ask away without answering. 

Occasionally, he'd ask me to hand him a tool. If I knew what it was, he'd smile and not say a word, but if I messed up, he'd let me know. Needless to say, I wanted to please him so I learned very quickly the names of tools and how to use them. 

Daddy loved to tinker. He'd take things apart and put them back together again just to see how they worked. His Father had been an inventor and held several patents, so I guess Daddy came by his curiosity naturally.

Our little family

Daddy was a simple man. He never asked for much, especially in the way of material things. I think, since he grew up without much, he learned to make do with what he had. 

But as we grew up, we learned he'd often put the needs of others before his own. He'd often go with holes in the bottoms of his shoes or wear things until they fell apart. 

He was a hard worker and a good provider. When I was growing up, he usually worked 2 jobs. With 3 little mouths to feed, money was always tight. My mother was frugal and we learned quickly that money didn't grow on trees. 

Mama & Daddy's engagement pic

We did the best we could with what we had and though money was always tight, Daddy found a way for us to take a vacation each year. 

He had a friend named Bill who owned a motel in Florida. I think Bill's last name was Reid, but I'm not positive after all these years. The motel was nothing fancy but Bill let Daddy have a room in the hotel with a small fridge for $50 a week. What a steal! I don't know how we all managed to fit into the room, but we did it every year for years. 

Back then, my brother, sister, and I didn't understand that we were technically poor, or at least lower middle class. It didn't really matter. Mama and Daddy did what they could to provide for us and we were grateful. 

Daddy enjoyed going to the drive in theater. We'd often go the Starlight Drive in. While Mama and Daddy were enjoying the movie, we'd play on the playground. 

Daddy with his cigarette

He also enjoyed watching TV after a long day at work. He'd sit and watch wrestling or baseball for hours as he smoked a cigarette and occasionally had a can of beer. The simple pleasures in life seemed to be what mattered most to Daddy. 

On weekends when he wasn't working, he'd drive fifty miles to my Granddaddy's house to help him fill contracts for a local cotton mill. All weekend long, Daddy would be out in the shop while my siblings and I played with our cousins. 

Daddy also enjoyed fishing. Once he took my brother, sister, and I on a family fishing trip he and his brothers put together. It was the first time my Daddy and Uncles had taken us kids on a trip and it was one I'll never forget. 

I followed behind Daddy as he set up the trot lone along the riverbank. To this day, I can't remember if they caught anything or not. 

I was too busy hanging out with my cousins. We were preteens on that trip and we didn't play foolish childhood games anymore. Instead, we cut up and listened to music on the radio. 

I remember that evening we had the radio blaring to "China Grove" when one of our other cousins began to scream in pain. He'd been hooked by his brother who'd thrown his fishing line out while standing too close on the riverbank. Instead of the hook flying into the water as it should have, it ripped into my cousin's flesh. Daddy came to his aid with a trusty pair of pliers. As he and my Uncle Donald were discussing the best way to remove the hook with the least amount of pain, Daddy's suggestion won out. They cut the barb off the hook and pushed it through my cousin's skin. 

It scared the rest of us to death and as we were all chided about the importance of having good distance between each other while casting, I know I was shaking in my shoes. I felt my cousin's pain as he screamed out and I didn't want to experience that again.

He loved to fish!

We all knew Daddy loved fishing and we had several other opportunities to witness him sitting by a riverbank on other trips we'd taken through the years. One of his favorites was to Lake Marvin, an old Girl Scout retreat, way up in North Georgia. 

My brother loved to fish, too, and they'd often spend time together talking about bream, crappie, or catfish. 

Daddy taught all of us to bait a hook, take the fish off the hook, and how to clean the fish. I didn't mind any of that, but I sure didn't like the taste of fish and don't eat it to this day. 

At our old house, Daddy had a folding table he'd set up in the back yard after coming in from a fishing trip. He'd line that table with newspapers and get out tools for cleaning the fish. 

He didn't have fancy stuff. He used a sharp kitchen knife to slit the fish down the belly, showing us how to remove the entrails. Then he'd cut off the head and take a spoon to descale the fish. I always hated when the scales would pop up and stick to my face as we were scaling together. He'd go so fast and I'd try to match his pace, but never learned to do it as quickly. 

After the fish were cleaned, he put them in a big bucket of water and rinse them a time or two before we cooked them on the grill or he'd take them inside for Mama to cook.

At my wedding

When the famous "Billy Bass" singing fish came out one year, we got one for Daddy. He loved that it was motion sensored and whenever someone would walk in front of it, it'd start to sing "Take me to the River." 

But as the years went by and Daddy's health declined, he no longer went fishing. Oh, he loved to talk about it and loved hearing other folks tell about their trips. He really enjoyed hearing details of my brother or my nephew's trips because they'd often kayak when they went fishing.

Daddy's old Ford

Daddy wasn't a man of many words. I think he thought long and hard about what he wanted to say before he said it. Sometimes he'd blow you away with things he said and sometimes, he'd say things to make himself smile at our reaction to what he'd said.

I wish I could talk to him one last time. If I could, I'd tell him I wasn't able to keep his asparagus growing in the garden or tend his blueberries because the property sold not long after Mama went into the nursing home. I think he'd be understanding, but I still feel bad I didn't get to keep that promise I made to him just before he passed away. 

Losing someone dear to you is hard. It's even harder when there's a special holiday each year that brings that person to mind. But I'm thankful for the time I had with my Daddy. I'm glad he didn't mind my being under his feet as he was working on things. I learned so much from him even when he didn't explain what he was doing. 

His quiet strength, his mischievous smile, and his fighting spirit are what I miss most. One day, I'll get to see him again and we'll catch up. Maybe he'll say, "What took you so long?" or "Did ya come to see me?" things he said often as we were growing up. And I'll smile as I do my best to hold back the tears.

Christmas Blues

 It's 8 days until Christmas and I'm feeling a little blue. This year won't be a traditional Christmas for me. I don't like it when my normal routine is disturbed and this year, it's already started out weird. 

I love Christmas and having all of my children and grandchildren around, but that hasn't happened for years now. Since my kids are all grown and have families of their own, they make plans that don't always include us. It makes me sad. I guess I'm stuck in the Walton world. 

If only things could be the way I'd like them to be! I'd have a beautiful, snowy Christmas morning and after a quick breakfast, I'd hear a knock at the door. I'd open it and one of my children would be there - hugs, smiles, and laughter would ensue. As we'd usher in each family group, the house would be filled with chatter. It would feel cozy and warm. My heart would swell with excitement. I'd need no other gift than the gift of presence - their presence, which I am already missing this year. 

My middle daughter came to celebrate an early Christmas with us yesterday and while it was nice, it was odd. It was too quiet and quick. I felt lonely and disappointed when they left and wanted a do over, but I won't get it. 

I won't get to see my oldest son at all this year. He and his family will gather at their house and have their own celebration. I miss them so much and wish we could see them, but am trying my best to understand I have to let go. 

My oldest daughter lives in Texas. It's too far for them to come home to be with us. We'll probably get a FaceTime call sometime on Christmas day, but it's not the same. I miss them, too. 

I do have a consolation prize, however. My youngest daughter will join us for Christmas this year. At least I'll have one of my kiddos with us on the actual day and that will help things feel a little more normal, but it'll still be different. 

I guess I should be happy I'll have one child with me. There are so many of my friends who'll be spending Christmas alone this year. I can't even begin to imagine what that feels like. My heart goes out to them. 

Why do our expectations seem to be so high at Christmas? I don't like it, not one little bit. 

I'll do my best to smile and be happy on the outside this holiday, but on the inside, I'll be crying. 

Sometimes I wonder if something is really wrong with me. When I got married and had my family, I always made a special effort to go over and visit my parents on Christmas day. It was a joyous time of celebration and we made so many precious memories with my siblings and their families. Why do kids not value that sense of family any more? 

Our world is so different these days. 

I can't help thinking of Jamie Lee Curtis in the movie, Christmas with the Kranks. Her husband, Tim Allen, talks her into taking a vacation for Christmas since their daughter won't be able to come home for the holidays. After pondering it, she finally agrees. As her excitement builds and she prepares for the trip, she gets a big surprise. Her daughter calls with a change of plans. Immediately, she shifts gears and tries to pull together all of the familiar traditions she loves. It ends up being a neighborhood effort to bring a sweet holiday to fruition and maybe that's what I'm secretly hoping for...

My husband keeps telling me to take one day at a time, but it's so hard. He asked me earlier today what I wanted for Christmas. I told him I don't need a thing. The blues have hit me hard this year. I don't want anything for Christmas except my family all together under one roof. Is that too much to ask?

And while I'm being a whiney little brat, I can't help but think about two friends of mine. One's father has just found out his cancer from over 20 years ago has come back. The other, who was diagnosed the same year as me, has had to fight continually for the past 9+ years. She's gone through so much and is still having difficulty. I'm sure both of them would wish for wellness this Christmas and I'd love to see them get it, but I still want my family around me. I can't help it. I need them. 

I don't want to be this way, really, I don't. Christmas isn't about what I want. It's about Jesus, but it sure would be nice to celebrate His birth with the ones I love. Maybe next year.

Visiting Relatives

Yesterday was a great day for visiting relatives. 

Before the end of the year, we always take time to visit those we don't see often and yesterday, we traveled to Griffin to see my Aunt, Betty June, and cousin, Karen. 

While there, we enjoyed catching up. We looked through old family photos and talked about precious childhood memories.

It was a much needed respite to the craziness going on in our world today. I'm so thankful we had the chance to spend time with family. 

There are so many we don't see on a regular basis and it's always amazing to see changes that occur in the span of time between visits. 

It seems like Covid-19 is trying to steal everyone's time together, but we're determined not to let it! Phil and I have purposed in our hearts to keep on doing what we want to do and do it when we want to do it. No virus is going to stop us from living our lives. Of course, we're cautious and don't purposely put ourselves in harm's way, but you can't just hole up and stay inside. There's too much living to do and time waits for no one, as a wise person once said. 

 

Me, Aunt Betty June, and her baby

Karen and I in front of the tree

Turkey day is almost here!

Mixing up my famous dressing

Thanksgiving preparations are in full swing here. This year, we won't be hosting the meal but will enjoy being the guests. Even though that's the case, there are still many dishes to prepare. The menu is made and it's time to celebrate! Holidays are nice because they help us remember those things we forget in the middle of the year. It's nice to have a designated day for giving thanks, but the risk is that we isolate those aspects of the celebration to that one day a year instead of living it out all year round. It's easy to gather round the dinner table and declare our gratitude, but what about those gray, wintry days in the bleak of February, or what about the sweltering days of July, or the mundane days of September? Paul writes in 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. Always. Without ceasing. In all circumstances. So yes, give thanks tomorrow and through the weekend. Tell people how much they matter to you. Make those gratitude lists. But when this weekend ends, don't stop. Keep it going. All year round. Also, before we go and stuff our faces with turkey, can I just say how grateful I am for you? It means a lot to know you take time out of your precious day to pop in and visit for a few minutes. I love reading your messages and connecting with you over how God is moving in your life or how my simple words here have been a breath of hope. It makes what I do worth it. It makes what I do matter, and it reminds me that this whole writing thing and helping people love God's story was never my idea, but an act of obedience and love. So, Happy Thanksgiving!

Cancer doesn't have to be a family affair

The phone call I never expected to receive came in last week. My youngest daughter was on the line. “Mom, I went to the doctor and she found a lump in my breast.” As she spoke the words, I felt my heart seize in my chest. Every ounce of my being wanted to scream out in agony, “Not my baby girl, cancer…not my baby girl!” Since receiving my breast cancer diagnosis, I’d never given much thought to the possibility that one day a child of mine might contract the disease and yet, three years post diagnosis, and here we were.

I continued to listen as my daughter explained the plan. The primary care physician was sending her to a breast specialist. The specialist would perform a diagnostic mammogram and if she felt it necessary, she’d also perform an ultrasound. That plan sounded all too familiar. I’d already been there and done that. My sweet little girl couldn’t fathom the tsunami of emotions welling up inside me. I didn’t want to frighten her, but I wanted her to know what to expect. Very gently, I explained the process to her. At 29, she shouldn’t be dealing with this right now. Maybe at 35 or 40, as the oncologist suggested for my girls as I completed treatment, but not now! She sounded so worldly and well informed. “Mom,” she said, “I already know. It’s going to be okay.” How could she sound so calm and free of fear? When I’d been told the same thing, I went into major freak out mode. It never occurred to me that she was trying to hold it together for my sake.

A few days later, one of my other daughters and I traveled to the Atlanta area to meet my youngest child for her appointment. Sitting outside the breast specialist’s office, I experienced an overwhelming bout of Deja’ Vu. Instead of seeing my daughter walking into that office, I was the one timidly pressing the elevator button. I was the one passing through the large glass doors. I was the one standing frozen in front of the registration desk. I tried to shake off the feeling and push the memories aside. This was not my experience, this was hers. I watched with careful eyes as my little girl, now grown, walked with confidant steps. She strode quickly as we followed behind. My other daughter, Laura, and I whispered. We hoped Jamie was all right. As we entered the office of the breast specialist, my eyes caught the large BCS logo printed on the wall. Three years ago, I wouldn’t have had any idea what those initials stood for but knew too well now.

After registration, we all sat in chairs along the wall. Thankfully, we were the only women in the office at that time. Laura and I made small talk to help put Jamie at ease. Gradually, the room filled with other women. I scanned the waiting area. Women of all ages were present but the median age seemed to be around 45. Most of the women were waiting for their annual mammograms. I didn’t see a single woman my daughter’s age.

I’d explained the procedure for the mammogram to my daughter earlier the previous week. I didn’t want her going in for the test unprepared. When I had my first mammogram, I was clueless. No one had taken time to give me a heads up and I hadn’t thought to look on the internet for information. I’ll never forget the feeling of complete humiliation as the technician took my breast and placed it on the cold, plastic plate. Feeling my body part being squeezed tightly between two plastic plates had been extremely painful, but even more than that, it was embarrassing. I explained each step of the mammogram in great detail to Jamie. Maybe I gave too much information, but I wanted her to be well informed and prepared.

When they called my daughter’s name, we went back with her. There was no way I was going to let my child go through this alone. We were taken to another waiting area and a volunteer took Jamie back to the dressing room. A few minutes later, she came out in a gown. I could tell, by the look on her face, the reality had just hit her. We sat and waited with the other women. All of them sitting in navy blue robes like perfect little marionettes, waiting for the puppet master to pull their strings and make them perform.

After the mammogram was complete, Jamie joined us in the waiting room once again. She explained the doctor wanted an ultrasound. Hearing those words caused me to tremble. I knew the doctor wouldn’t have ordered an ultrasound if she hadn’t seen something on the mammogram that needed further investigation. I kept my thoughts to myself and listened as my girls talked. Silently, I prayed. I asked God to please protect my daughter. I didn’t know how I’d have the strength to handle it if she received a cancer diagnosis. I begged Him to let her be okay.

The ultrasound was fairly quick and within fifteen minutes, Jamie was coming out of the back office dressed and ready to go. Laura and I looked quizzically at her waiting for an explanation, but none came. When I asked point blank, Jamie said, “Mom, I’ll tell you outside. Let’s wait until we get to the car.” Oh, my! Surely this couldn’t be good, I thought to myself.

Outside the breast specialist’s office, I waited for the results of the test. I was overjoyed when my daughter said, “They couldn’t find anything but I have to go back in three months.” I wanted to jump up and down. I wanted to do cartwheels across the parking lot. To say I was overjoyed was an understatement! Although she didn’t say it, I could tell a huge peace was washing over Jamie. I saw her shoulders relax and the tension leave her face as we went to our cars. Hugging her tightly, I began to cry. All of the pent up emotions I’d kept inside for the last couple of hours spilled out. Jamie looked me in the eyes and said, “Mom, I told you everything was going to be okay. That’s one reason I didn’t want to tell you I was going to have to need this test. I knew it would upset you. I knew it would bring back too many memories.” And she was right. Being here had certainly dredged up painful memories from the beginning of my cancer journey.

We celebrated the good news over a leisurely lunch and followed that with a trip to the ice cream shop. I watched as Jamie licked her ice cream cone. This 29 year old woman was still my baby girl and always would be. As she nibbled at her cone, I got a glimpse into the past of Jamie when she was a little girl doing the exact same thing. Her mannerisms hadn’t changed much over the years, although her stature certainly had. I was proud of how she’d grown. I was awed by her strength and marveled at her bravery. I wondered where she obtained those characteristics, certainly not from me.

I was thankful her tests were over. In three months, we’ll go through the tests with her again and we’ll pray for the same results. We thought we’d gotten rid of the fear of cancer with my experience and surgery but apparently not. It seems cancer longs to be a permanent part of our family but that’s not going to happen, at least not on my watch. Cancer doesn’t have to be a family affair and we’re going to do our best to keep it that way. 

A recap: Looking back over the past 2 years

Today, as I celebrate 2 years of being in remission, I thought it would be a good time to look back and remember all God's done since my initial diagnosis. This recap includes the majority of tests, surgeries, etc. but doesn't contain a lot of the daily evidences of God's amazing sense of humor and provision throughout the past 2 years. I tried my best to jot down the main things so others would be able to see God's faithfulness during this time of trial in my life but I kept some of the "sweeter" things hidden in my heart for myself. Please rejoice with me today as I celebrate my new life, my life after cancer. God isn't through with me yet and I'm excited to see what He does in the days to come. I'm being attentive with a watchful eye seeking His direction and counting His blessings. I hope you'll do the same in your life. And just think, the Creator of the Universe calls us His friends!

Beautiful flowers from my daughter, Erin.

March 1, 2014: I discovered the mass in my breast (I was not afraid when I felt the mass. God gave me a sense of peace that I can only explain as His protection as I look backward at the situation.)

March 28, 2014: We closed on our home (our home wasn't even on the market a full week before we had a contract on it! God made provision even when we were afraid our older home wouldn't sell!)

March 29, 2014: We moved into our new home (God provided a home only 8 miles from my husband's workplace. It's much smaller so it's less to take care of and is only one level! God knew I wouldn't be able to perform a lot of housework once I found out that Cancer would be a new part of my life.)

May 1, 2014: I kept feeling a nagging sense that I needed to find a doctor in Newnan (God prompted me over and over again so I wouldn't ignore the mass in my breast. Even though it felt like nothing much to me, He knew it needed immediate attention!)

May 16, 2014: I did an internet search to find an OB/GYN in this area (I had no idea what kind of doctor I needed to see about the mass but God prompted me to call an OB/GYN)

May 27, 2014: I had my first appointment with Dr. Dyson (the OB/GYN) where she felt the mass and referred me to have more testing done at Southern Crescent Women's Healthcare (God gave wisdom to the doctor to send me for further testing and I am very grateful for not only His prompting, but her listening!)

May 28, 2014: I had two diagnostic mammograms done and an ultrasound. The radiologist discovered a suspicious mass and suggested I have a vacuum core needle biopsy done (God allowed the radiologist to see clearly that there was a problem on the ultrasound screen. I remember the doctor commenting that the mass looked like a one armed crab. Crab, by the way, is the meaning of the word Cancer!)

June 2, 2014: I had the vacuum core needle biopsy done and tissue samples sent to pathology (God prompted the radiologist to order further testing. The tissue samples revealed the malignant cells)

June 5, 2014: I received the oral report from the doctor of radiology that my tissue was malignant (CANCER) (God knew before I did that the report was going to reveal Cancerous cells in the mass. When I answered the phone call, I had no idea that I would receive the shocking news while I was alone in the house. God knew I needed to process it in my own way and in my own timing therefore, He allowed the call to come when no one was home but me.)

June 6, 2014: I received a written copy of the pathology report in the mail (God knew I needed to see the results in writing so He prompted the written report to be mailed so quickly.)

June 9, 2014: Dr. Dyson's office recommended I see Dr. Nicole Sroka (a breast specialist surgeon) in Fayetteville (God had already planned for me to see one of the best breast surgeons in Georgia even before Dr. Dyson's office recommended Dr. Sroka! When I did research on her via the internet, I found that she is one of the very best in this area. Why would God give me anything less than the very best...afterall, He loves me with an everlasting love!)

June 11, 2014: Dr. Sroka met with me for over 2 hours discussing all aspects of surgery giving detailed diagrams and advice (God knows I am a very visual person so He worked it out so Dr. Sroka would be running late that day which in turn caused our appointment to run an hour late. The office staff had already left at 5pm but Dr. Sroka told me she was going to sit down with me and take as long as I needed so she could make sure I understood exactly what was going on and what the game plan would be. She stayed with me in the exam room for 2 hours sketching and explaining every little detail of the surgery to me. She was extremely patient and kind. God reassured me that He had everything under control!)

June 23, 2014: We met with a lawyer to prepare our personal wills (God knows I'm a practical person and allowed us to have time to take care of business before my surgery. He provided an attorney who helped us write up wills, medical directives, and powers of attorney.)

June 28, 2014: Two very dear friends came to spend the day with us and ministered God's love to me (God knew how scared I was about the surgery and he sent one of my very best friends to come and comfort me!)

July 2, 2014: My daughter, Laura, came to stay overnight with us and take me to my pre-operative appointments (God knew I would need extra moral support, so He prompted Laura to want to come be with me during testing)

July 3, 2014: Pre-operative tests were performed at Piedmont Hospital in Fayetteville (God knew all the tests that the doctor would need to have done before my surgery. He provided kind people to assist me and make sure my needs were met)

July 4, 2014: We traveled to the beach for a mini vacation and to process all of the medical news we'd received (God knows how long it takes me to process things and He made a way for us to spend time at the beach. A hurricane was brewing off the coast of Florida and we thought the trip would be a total wash out, but God blew the hurricane winds away and let us have bright, sunny days of perfection!)

July 7, 2014: We returned home (God gave us a safe trip back home and allowed us time to spend in prayer before more testing)

July 8: Returned to Piedmont Fayetteville for radioactive dye injections in both breasts (God prompted the doctor to order these tests to reveal whether or not malignant cells were in my lymph nodes)

July 9, 2014: Surgery was performed to remove both breasts and lymph nodes from each arm (Surgery took about 4 hours. God guided Dr. Sroka's hands and brought me through the surgery safely. Diagnosed with stage 2B Invasive Ductal Carcinoma with metastasis to the lymph glands.)

July 10, 2014: Released from the hospital late day (around 5:30 p.m.) (Nurses were very busy but God provided one lab tech, named Darci, to be my constant help. She went above and beyond the call of duty to serve me. God allowed me to progress in my healing so I could leave the hospital and be back in the comforts of my home)

July 12, 2014: My new friend, Karen Fedder, came to visit and share about her Cancer journey (God provided a sweet new friend who's already traveled the Cancer road. She has been able to give me advice, helpful hints, tips and help me know what to expect without sugar coating anything.)

July 18, 2014: Had my first fitting for prostheses and bras at Renewal in Fayetteville. (God provided a kind woman who didn’t make me feel embarrassed or afraid.)

August 7, 2014: Met with my oncologist, Dr. Trevor Feinstein to learn the results from my Oncotype DX test. (My rating was a 7 out of 100 which meant chances of recurrence were extremely low. When I saw the number 7, I immediately felt in my spirit that God was saying, “Bonnie, that’s the number of completion. You won’t have to worry about the cancer coming back again. It’s over.”) At this same appointment, Dr. Feinstein and I talked about treatment. Normally treatment would have been surgery, chemotherapy, radiation and then antihormone therapy. I was concerned about chemo because of the research I’d done and the harm it caused. I asked Dr. Feinstein what he would recommend in this exact same situation had his wife or daughter received my diagnosis. He said he would not recommend chemo because of the drastic and sometimes irreversible problems it causes in other parts of the body such as the heart or lungs. I was thankful for his honesty.

August 13, 2014: Met with the radiation oncologist to discuss my upcoming radiation treatments. I was told I needed to have 35 rounds of radiation with 5 concentrated boosts at the end of treatment. (God gave me a doctor who was direct and to the point. As she explained the plan, I knew exactly what was coming next so there were no surprises.)

August 22, 2015: Began treatment for lymphedema. Therapy sessions will be three times a week for a period of 2-3 months. (God gave me a Christian therapist. We shared out faith at each treatment and it was a great source of encouragement.)

September 2, 2014: Began radiation treatments. (God gave me such peace as my friends were praying for me and I was blessed to have no pain during treatment.)

September 3, 2014: Fitted for compression sleeves and gauntlets to manage lymphedema. (Once again, God provided a Christian to work with me. It was so nice to know God has strategically placed his people in my life.)

September 26, 2014: Radiation stopped temporarily because of severe burns to my chest. (I’m thankful the team noticed my skin deteriorating and stopped treatment for a bit.)

September 29, 2014: Radiation resumes. (My techs are so sweet and always make me laugh.)

October 1, 2014: Rushed to the hospital with chest pains. After multiple heart tests, I was released. (God put me in the hands of a caring doctor and all was fine.)

October 6, 2014: Radiation stopped once again due to dangerous burns on my chest. She wants me to apply Silvadene cream and return in 2 days. (God gave my doctor wisdom regarding treatment for the burns.)

October 8, 2014: Radiation resumes

October 15, 2014: Radiation completed!!! 28 rounds done. (I was so thankful to be finally done with radiation. I was warned to expect extreme fatigue for weeks following.)

November 15, 2015: Began antihormone therapy with Arimidex.

November 30, 2014: Stopped Arimidex due to bad side effects. (After much prayer, God prompted me to stop taking this medication.)

December 27, 2014: Began taking Tamoxifen per my oncologist

January 31, 2015: Discontinued Tamoxifen due to side effects. (Once again, God gave me wisdom to discontinue this medication.)

February 23, 2015: Began taking Aromasin but stopped one week later after much prayer and many troubling side effects. (I’m thankful my oncologist supported me in my decision and didn’t make me feel guilty. He said it’s my body and I am the one who ultimately has to decide what’s best for me.)

June 24, 2015: Ultrasound on ovaries to check for cancer. (None found! Praise God!)

July 9, 2015: Celebrated one year of being in remission. (God gave me a new year of life to enjoy and celebrate!)

July 15, 2015: MRI of the lumbar spine. (God allowed the doctors to find a suspicious mass at L5 and found a Hemangioma, bulging disks, osteoporosis and degenerative spine disease.)

July 23, 2015: PET scan done. (God performed a miracle! The suspicious mass at L5 has miraculously disappeared! No evidence of cancer. Praise God!)

August 14, 2015: Developed a seroma and had to return to the surgeon to have it drained. (God kept me from passing out as the doctor inserted a needle in my chest to remove accumulated fluid.)

August 28, 2015: Another surgery. Dr. Sroka needed to do surgery to remove necrotic tissue from the bilateral mastectomies. (God kept me safe and there were no problems)

January 12, 2016: Pain clinic for spinal pain. (After talking with that doctor, God told me not to return to that clinic. They are in the business of handing out drugs for pain and getting people hooked on opiates. I’m thankful He opened my eyes and let me see clearly.)

January 22, 2016: MRI of spine (God keep the test clear and no cancer was evident.)

March 30, 2016: Demonstration of recirculating compression pump to help with lymphedema (God used a sweet representative from the company LifeTouch to minister His love to me that day. It was a day when I was very down in the dumps and just needed a friend. She was here for about 3 hours and I enjoyed a good conversation with her while the equipment was being demonstrated on me. We talked a lot about God.)

July 8, 2016: Complete bone scan (I was able to take an anti-anxiety medication to help me remain calm while in the scanner. I was completely relaxed and able to endure the test without anxiety. The technician was very kind and pleasant.)

July 9, 2016: Celebrating my 2^nd cancerversary today. (The first thought that popped into my mind when I woke up was how very blessed I was to have been given 2 years of life since being diagnosed with breast cancer. I am so very thankful to be alive today and look forward to a grand celebration tonight with my family.)

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