After the initial surgical scars have healed, some women are making the choice to beautify their mastectomy scars with elaborate and colorful tattoos. While this is a very personal choice, I applaud the women who are brave enough to use their bodies as a statement of survival. Turning the ugliness of cancer into a form of body art takes guts. Finding a tattoo artist willing to work over the top of scarred tissue is challenging, but more and more women are making the choice to ink their chests. But is this choice a wise one? Can the beauty come at a cost?

When I had my breasts removed in 2014, I was unaware of the popularity of breast cancer survivors and chest tattoos. Although I already have many tattoos on my body, I never gave a thought to having my scars covered with ink. Having needles inserted into tender scar tissue wasn't appealing to me, in fact, it was downright scary.

I didn't realize, until I began to research more about breast tattoos, that inking our bodies could be dangerous. I never dreamed that the permanent ink I had applied to my body could travel, accumulate and lodge in my lymph nodes. But in an article, I discovered it was true. According to the article, published in September 2017, research suggested that tattoo ink can cause cancer. While this claim hasn't been proven, it does provide food for thought.

Apparently, the researchers on this study were from France and Germany. Tissue samples, from both people with and without tattoos, were obtained from a selection of deceased individuals. Various testing was performed to measure the levels of dye and metals stored in the lymphatic system. Lymph nodes from the neck, underarms and groin were examined. Scientists looked for answers to these questions:

Do organic pigments travel from the skin to the lymph nodes?
Do people with tattoos have more potentially toxic metals in their skin and lymph nodes?
What size are particles from pigments, and what size are the particles that travel to lymph nodes?
Do the particles affect surrounding tissue?


A specialized technique called spectroscopy was used. During this analysis, samples of organic matter were measured using the wavelength of light and documenting where those measurements fell on the light spectrum.

Researchers found, "strong evidence for both migration and long-term deposition of toxic elements and tattoo pigments from tattoos on the skin into the lymph nodes."

While their studies were inconclusive, it does seem our bodies were made to filter out foreign particles and some of these, including pigments from tattoo ink, can be stored in our skin or lymph nodes.

The researchers explain how tattoo pigments are picked up as "foreign bodies" by the body's immune system and are then stored in the skin and lymph nodes.

Ink used for tattoos is generally sold in ready-to-use containers. These inks can contain a number of colorants, preservatives or fillers.

Toxicities may differ from color to color. In this article, a description of how inks are made causes some concern.

"To make black ink, for instance, manufacturers might use soot or powdered jet, or cinnabar and common rust to make red. Some of the ink ingredients, like the metal cadmium, are known carcinogens, while others, like carbon black, are "possibly carcinogenic", according to the International Agency for Research on Cancer, an arm of the World Health Organization (WHO).

However, this does not necessarily mean that these chemicals are dangerous to human health, said Hayley Goldbach, a resident physician in dermatology at UCLA Health, a health care system affiliated with the University of California at Los Angeles."

Pigments used in tattoo ink have not definitively been linked to causing cancer. However, some harmful metals or toxins could be present in them. Since the long-term effects of such materials haven't been studied, it might be wise to think before you ink.

But one thing baffles me. If there is a considerable risk of ink accumulating in the lymphatic system, why do radiation clinics often tattoo their patients with tiny dots used to help align them under the linear accelerator? Wouldn't the ink used, even if it was medical grade, pose a problem in the future? It just doesn't seem to make sense.

According to another article, nearly four of every 10 millennials have tattoos. Among Generation Xers, only about 32 percent have tattoos and among baby boomers, the number drops to 15 percent. In the US, nearly four in 10 millennials have tattoos, according to a Pew Research Center report.

According to Dr. Bruce Katz, a fellow with the American Academy of Dermatology and director of the Juva Skin and Laser Center in Manhattan, "For those looking to get inked, it's crucial to do your research: Make sure the artist is reputable, get references from clients, and ensure that they are using disposable needles and unopened ink to prevent infections."

After having read these articles, I had to rethink my decision to get tattooed. Maybe I shouldn't have done it. Maybe I should have done a little research to find out what types of inks my tattoo artist was using and where they came from.

I didn't start getting tattoed early in life. In fact, I got my first tattoo at the age of 50! It was on my bucket list. After my children were grown and I'd become a grandmother, I decided to finally cross that item off my list. I found a local artist and went in for my first ink. I didn't believe it when friends told me tattoos were addictive, but I quickly found out it was true. I had three more tattoos before my breast cancer diagnosis. When I was going through radiation treatment, I laughed when the technician asked if I minded being tattooed. She explained it would help them get me properly positioned at each session. After agreeing to be tattooed, she applied six tiny dark blue dots along my torso.

On my first cancerversary, I had a pink ribbon tattoo added to my right calf. Inside it, I had the date of my surgery inscribed. In subsequent years, I've had a small butterfly added to that ribbon for each year I've survived cancer. My children and grandchildren think I've got enough ink on my body, but I won't promise them not to get another just yet.

Making the choice to adorn your body with ink is ultimately your decision but if you currently have cancer or may be predisposed to it, please weigh your options carefully. Hopefully, in the future, there will be more medical research done on the lymphatic system and how it responds to the various types of tattoo ink. Until then, be wise. Think before you ink



References:
https://www.naturalnews.com/2017-09-19-toxic-tattoo-ink-accumulates-in-lymph-nodes-cancer-risk.html
http://www.cnn.com/2017/10/02/health/tattoo-ink-lymphoma-study/index.html
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/behindtheheadlines/news/2017-09-14-tattoo-ink-particles-can-spread-into-lymph-nodes/
https://www.theguardian.com/sustainable-business/2016/sep/28/tattoo-ink-cancer-regulatio
https://thetruthaboutcancer.com/are-tattoos-safe-cancer-risk/
http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/health/health-problems/experts-warn-of-link-between-tattoos-and-cancer/news-story/209ce743af56d20915067bb78714f4b6

Grey, grey, go away

These grey rainy days are getting to be a real drag! It's no wonder people suffer from seasonal affective disorder (S.A.D.) when the winter days are cold and bleak. There's a certain type of heaviness that comes with these types of days, like a shroud of emotional baggage. It can get heavy very quickly and too much to bear especially when grief is involved. I'm still processing my mother's recent death and it's been hard.

Grief is a strange thing. It slides in unexpectedly and oozes out orifices without permission. Processing it takes time and energy that I just don't seem to want to expend right now. But there will come a time when I can no longer ignore it. Someone said once that grief demands to be felt but grief is not linear. One moment you may feel you've moved past it and the next minute, it's right in your face. Grief never says, "I’ve been here long enough, I think it’s time for me to leave.” No. Grief crowds the heart, eats up all your energy, and chronically imposes upon your peace. But grief isn't some evil force that's only there to cause pain, grief is escorting deeper feelings, truth about your life, what you value and what you need. Grief conveys how deeply you cared about someone. Grief is almost always painful to come degree. As Mark Nepo so beautifully puts it, "The pain was necessary to know the truth, but we don't have to keep the pain alive to keep the truth alive."

Finding Gratitude and Other Lessons Cancer Taught Me

It wasn’t yesterday that I was diagnosed with stage 2B Invasive Ductal Carcinoma breast cancer, but it feels that way. I’m still adversely affected by that life-altering event. On a daily basis, I have to make a choice. I can wallow in the self-pity of what if, or I can choose to be grateful I’m alive.  

Cancer is a wonderful teacher. If you let her, she’ll teach lessons you never dreamed you needed to learn. Often, in the beginning, it’s hard to see and learn the lessons. As the days go by, it’s easier to become more aware of the important things cancer has to tell. But not everyone wants to discover the lessons. Not everyone chooses to look for the good in a hard situation. This is part of the lesson.

One of the first lessons cancer taught me was to give myself permission to grieve. I didn’t receive this lesson at first, although cancer tried several times to teach it to me. I refused to receive it. I didn’t think I was grieving. I thought I was okay. Losing my breasts had been extremely difficult. I didn’t understand why I’d been chosen to go through the trial of breast cancer. A deep sadness wrapped itself around me. I carried it with me everywhere I went. I didn’t understand anything other than cancer was robbing me of my femininity. One evening, as I sat alone in my room, I heard a whisper. That whisper said, “It’s okay to give yourself permission to grieve.” I internalized that statement and after mulling it over, tears began to fall. And then the dam burst. I was not only weeping, I was mourning. Deep guttural sobs poured forth and I was frightened by the raw power unleashed. I didn’t realize I had so much emotion pent up inside. As I allowed myself time to grieve, the tears began to subside. This did not happen suddenly. It took days and weeks and months, but gradually, the sadness grew less heavy.

The next lesson cancer taught me was how to process my anger. At first, I didn’t realize I was angry. I’m not normally an angry person. But as I thought about all I’d endured, I realized I was angry. I was bitter. I was hurt. I didn’t want to have cancer. I didn’t choose to have cancer. I didn’t deserve to have cancer! And, I didn’t want to have surgery. I didn’t want to go through treatment. I just wanted my old life back, the life I had before cancer came in like a wrecking ball to shatter my life into little pieces. Like a child in the throes of a full-blown temper tantrum, I pushed, kicked, and screamed until I’d worn myself out. But cancer told me it was okay. It was okay to be angry.

And then cancer did the unexpected. She taught me how to find gratitude. She said it could have been worse. I could have died. I was grateful I hadn’t died. That would have been terrible! Or maybe not. But cancer’s next lesson taught me gratitude can replace grief and anger. I realized that I’d taken a lot for granted before cancer. I hadn’t realized that every day is a precious gift. Cancer taught me to start looking for gratitude. She taught me to choose joy. This lesson, she said, would teach me not only to find gratitude but to remember I had a choice. It was my choice how I’d live each day. I could choose to grieve, to be angry, bitter or hurt, or I could choose to live and be happy.

My next lesson came as I completed radiation. After enduring 28 rounds, my body weak and tired, cancer said, “Push through. You’re stronger than you think.” And I did. I made myself get through each day. Little by little, I was determined to get better. I worked hard, even when I didn’t feel like it. It wasn’t easy but I’m glad I kept going. I could have given up.

Cancer is a good teacher. I can’t say I like her, but I do appreciate her. I’m grateful for the valuable lessons she’s taught and yes, I might have learned those lessons without her, but with her, I think I learned them a little better than most.

I still don’t understand why I got cancer and I don’t know what caused it. I probably never will. But, I can say, finding gratitude has been a blessing and cancer helped me discover I have so much for which to be grateful.

If you let her, cancer will teach you important and valuable lessons. Your lessons may be vastly different than mine, but I guarantee, they will be life-altering lessons. You may not be ready to learn the lessons right away, but give her time, and she will teach.

Many of my loved ones and friends have died from cancer. Many of them died in excruciating agony and pain. Not all of them would have appreciated the viewpoint I’ve shared but I certainly mean no disrespect to anyone past, present, or future struggling with cancer. It is by far, the most challenging and difficult thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life, but I’ve chosen to take this awful trial and learn from it. So I hope you’ll understand my heart. My feeling is that cancer, even with all of its horrible ugliness, can be kind in the lessons we learn from it. But we have to be willing to look for the lessons. They’re not always apparent but they do have a purpose.

It's a New Day

"With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts." ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Seventh day of New Year. Outside, it's Winter. Barren trees stand. Frozen sentries waiting for first bud of Spring to appear. Tiny woodland creatures scurry searching for morsels. Doors and windows shield from cold. We wait. 

Winter is abhorred. Cold and I disagree. Cold hands, warm heart, if that be true, I win. 

Earlier, I rose. Sliding out of bed, I felt for glasses. Pulling on warmth, I dig into the Word. Hungry, I feast on manna. 

Quiet shattered. Doors open. Showers run. Coffee perks. They awake. It's a new day. 

Hubby sits. TV on. Preaching begins. Winter mornings dictate activities. Today is time for introspection and reflection. Sundays seem holier, but should never be. In Him, we live, and move and have our being...all days, all times. Always. A new day. A gift for the taking. 

Some days you just need to lie on the floor

The after effects of breast cancer can be overwhelming. It's been 1276 days since the cancer was removed from my body. That's 3 years, 5 months, and 27 days. You'd think, by now, I'd be really feeling great - that my body would have completely healed and I'd be living the good life. Surely, after this length of time, all the scars have mended and my body has learned to adapt to the physical changes, right? But that's not necessarily the case.

I'm normally not one to complain. Most days, even if I'm in pain, I keep it to myself. Why bother involving anyone else in my agony? They can't do a thing to fix it. Oh yes, the "I'm sorrys" help and those sweet empathetic pats on the back offer a little comfort but the suffering is mine and mine alone.

Some days are worse than others. Between the Lymphedema and the Fibromyalgia, I struggle. Neither of these two conditions will ever go away and that's frustrating.

The Lymphedema can be helped by wearing compression sleeves and using a programmable compression pump. The Fibromyalgia is helped by medication and by exercise, but I just long for the days when I used to feel normal. I haven't felt normal in a long time.

Before being diagnosed with breast cancer, my physical body was in fairly good shape. I did what I wanted to do despite the little aches and pains that came from daily exertion and growing older. I never really felt bad. Those days of good health were taken for granted.

So now I learn to temper my days and plan activities around how I feel. It's difficult to acquiesce to my body's needs, but I must. For some reason, I've always felt that I should be calling the shots, not my body but now, it's the other way around. My body dictates what I can and cannot do. Of course, I can always override the decision but it works out best if I listen and obey.

To be quite blunt, cancer sucks but even more than that, the after-effects suck. When I was told I had cancer, I was naive enough to think surgery would take care of the problem. For the most part, it did. The side effects didn't start showing up until several months later. Other than the physical and emotional scars, I never dreamed I'd have constant reminders of the trauma of breast cancer. Boy, was I dumb.

If you haven't been able to gather from my rant, today has been a difficult day. Last week, I decided to go off of the medication for the Fibromyalgia. I'd been experiencing some nasty side effects like blurry vision, loss of coordination, dizziness, and brain fog. There really isn't a specific medication that works for Fibro in case you didn't know. Doctors use various anti-depressants, anti-convulsants, or pain medications in an effort to alleviate the symptoms. While these medications help with serotonin uptake, overactive nerve endings, and sleep problems, they also bring with them their own parcel of side effects. It seems I'm always having to choose the lesser of two evils.

Lying on the floor seems to be helping. At least my body is prone and not moving. Tomorrow I think I'll start taking the medication my doctor prescribed for the Fibro again. It did help some with the physical pain and it did me have a more positive outlook.

If I could turn back the hands of time, I would have paid more attention to any and everything that could have potentially caused cancer to form in my body. But since I can't, I'll just have to learn to make the most of each day and be thankful I'm still alive.

Time thief

My lymphedema has gotten out of control lately and it's partly my fault. Daily I'm supposed to use this programmed compression pump to help alleviate the swelling but I haven't. Why, you ask? Well, sitting stationary for an hour is difficult. I don't enjoy my arms being painfully squeezed as I'm being held hostage but what's a girl to do. I can't function when my arms are swollen. I don't have a choice.

Breast cancer is the gift that keeps on giving. The surgery wasn't so bad, really. You'd think having both breasts removed would be extremely painful and while it was very uncomfortable, it was more of an emotional trauma than anything. But the physical wounds have healed. Rarely do I have discomfort in my chest. The lymphedema is a different story.

From the moment I rise til I go to bed each night, my arms begin swelling. If you didn't know the situation, you'd think I just had some really huge fat rolls in my armpits and upper arms. Through the day, the swelling increases with activity until I can barely function. Compression sleeves and gauntlets help but as soon as they're removed, I balloon.

Doctors prescribed a really expensive electric compression pump for me. It's been programmed precisely for me. You'd think I'd be grateful for this equipment that my insurance provided but it's just a constant reminder of what cancer took from me.

I use it because I have to but I don't like it. I've named the pump Time Thief and I think that's quite appropriate. Sometimes I think I should have name it Octopus or Straight Jacket because it's a huge tangled mess of hoses and once I'm zipped in, I can't get out by myself. That poses a huge problem especially when you need to go to the restroom...

The Oil of Joy For Mourning

The past few days have been difficult. Although the New Year has come and it should be a time of celebration and renewal, I've been in a season of mourning. My mother died on December 23. We'd been expecting her death but losing a loved one is never easy. I do take solace in knowing she was a believer and now that she's absent from the body, she's present with the Lord. That gives me great comfort and I know I'll see her again one day but in the meantime, the grief of losing her has come. Try as I might, I never know when it's going to overpower me. Everywhere I look, I see her. In my children's mannerisms, in photographs, in nature. Even though she's no longer here in bodily form, she'll always be with me. 

Some days have been harder than others. This morning, as I was having my devotional, I looked up from my Bible to see a red rose that I'd been given from her funeral service. The smell of it was heady. I took the rose in my hands and held it there. Each intricate and beautifully delicate petal reminded me of God's perfection and His handiwork in nature. Surrounding the rose was a cluster of Baby's Breath. Mama always loved Baby's Breath. We used to have it growing in a small section of yard behind our house. I'm not sure, but I think Mama said she got a start of it from my Great Uncle L.M. who often saved family heirloom plants. Beneath the Baby's Breath was another of Mama's favorites - Lily of the Valley. To this day, I can still smell the wonderful fragrant bell-shaped flowers of this plant. I even have a perfumed oil scented with Lily of the Valley. I bought it specifically to remind me of Mama. 

My heart was heavy as I continued my devotion. Thinking of the brevity of Mama's life consumed me but also helped remind me that we are all just vapors, here today and gone tomorrow. At 79 years young, she lived a full and happy life often revolving all of her time and attention on her children and grandchildren. 

I continued reading Scripture and was reminded of the verse in Isaiah where God speaks to Zion and tells the people He will comfort them their time of sadness. He promises to replace their sorrow with beauty for ashes and the oil of joy for their mourning. As I read the verse, I knew God was speaking to my heart, too. He knew my pain. He knew I missed my Mama and even though grief is part of the healing process, I felt He wanted me to focus more on the oil of joy He was pouring out to me. 

In the broken pieces of my heart, He was pouring in the healing balm of Gilead. All my hurts were being soothed by His gentle hand of comfort. As I cried out to Him in my brokenness, I felt the sweetest peace envelope me. I knew His Spirit, the Comforter, had come to minister to me. 

Sitting quietly at my kitchen table, eyes closed, I listened to the voice of the Holy Spirit. Words of love filled my mind and heart as let go of my emotions. Knowing my Heavenly Father is well acquainted with my grief, I rested. 

I'm sure there will be more days when the grief of losing Mama will be powerful but I also know God will be with me. He's promised to never leave or forsake me. And though I'm now technically an orphan by earthly means, my Everlasting Father will always be by my side to comfort, soothe and encourage me. 

Grief is painful but God wants to give us the oil of joy for our mourning. We only have to be willing to accept it. If your heart is hurting today, please turn to Him for relief. He wants to ease your pain as only He knows how to do.


"To console those who mourn in Zion,
To give them beauty for ashes,
The oil of joy for mourning,
The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
That they may be called trees of righteousness,
The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.”

Isaiah 61:3New King James Version (NKJV)

She's gone

Mama and Daddy share the same gravesite

In a split second, her life is over. My sweet Mother has left this earth and slipped into heaven. The days have become a blur as we managed to say our last goodbyes and make funeral arrangements. So many details have gotten lost in the shuffle as our emotions ebbed and flowed.

And now that the funeral service is over, her casket placed with my Father's, we try to process everything that's transpired over the past days, weeks, months, and years.

We knew this day was coming. It wasn't a surprise, but we just weren't ready for it to be so soon. Mama was ready. She'd told us over and over that she wanted to go home to heaven, so how can we begrudge her that last request? She's gone and we celebrate knowing she's no longer in pain, no longer bound by the time constraints of this world, and no longer kept out of the presence of her Lord and Savior.

It's hard to grasp though. When you've loved someone for so long, how do you let them go? It's hard not to want to cling tightly and be selfish, but that wouldn't be the right thing to do.

Beautiful Allatoona

So in the days ahead, my brother, sisters, and I will find our own way of getting through our grief. I'm sure it will be different for each of us since we each had our very own and special relationship with our Mother. And I'm sure the grief won't be short. I'm sure it will come in waves, rolling over us when we least expect it. The memories, too, will be constant. Something we see or hear, smell or touch will remind us of Mama. And that's a good thing, I think.

Those memories will help us keep her alive. Learning how to accept the memories as they come and not be overwhelmed by the sadness that accompanies them will be the hard part, but I'm hoping I can choose to remember not only the memory but the way I felt when the memory was made. If I can do that, I'll be okay.

After her service, I spent the day at Red Top Mountain. One of Mama's favorite picnic spots. We used to go there as children with my Mother and my Aunt. It was an inexpensive day trip and we loved being out in nature.

As I sat by the lake and reflected, I could almost feel Mama's presence. Listening to the nesting birds in the trees overhead, I wished she were with me. We'd be having a heartfelt conversation, I'm sure. That's one of the things I'm going to miss the most - calling to share a bit of news with her or just hearing her voice. I sure hope I never forget the sound of her voice.

Don't keep Jesus in the manger

How precious it is to see the world through eyes of a child! Their perspective is uniquely different from ours because they see without the tainted distortions of worldly pressures. That sweet innocence is priceless and only lasts a season. But oh, if it could only last a lifetime...

Yesterday, my four-year-old granddaughter, Heather, blessed my heart. We'd been spending the day together while her Mommy and Daddy enjoyed some much needed time together. As they began their mid-day date, Heather and I were in the process of making Christmas cookies. What fun it was to help her mix up the flour, sugar, eggs, butter, and vanilla. Of course, there was a dusting of flour on both of our noses by the time we got through, but we didn't mind. Then, we allowed the dough to firm up a bit while we went outside to swing. Her excitement was uncontainable.

When it was time to come back inside, we enjoyed a little snack and then pulled out the dough and began to get busy. As we worked to roll out the dough, Heather said, "Gigi, this is like ta-doh." (That's her word for Play-doh) I agreed and soon we had the dough flattened and ready to cut into shapes.

I'd placed a variety of cookie cutters on the counter and allowed her to choose the ones she wanted to use. She had great fun pressing the metal cutters deep into the soft, pliable dough. I watched with delight as she carefully cut and placed each cookie onto the pan then decorated them with colored sugar sprinkles. When the pans were full, we slipped them into the oven and I encouraged her to go play while I cleaned up the kitchen.

Heather placing baby Jesus in Mary's arms

As I was busy washing the dishes and putting things away, I heard Heather talking. I listened carefully to see what she was saying and this is what I heard - "Don't cry, baby Jesus! It's okay." At that, I had to peek around the corner to see what she was doing. Standing in the foyer, in front of the nativity scene, Heather had picked up the porcelain doll figure of baby Jesus and was tenderly holding him. I continued to watch and listen as she took the small figurine and lovingly placed him into Mary's capable hands. After she'd gotten them positioned perfectly, she stepped back, looked at her work and said in her sweet little voice, "There." She just stood there looking at the figures for several minutes and then ran into the living room to play with her toys. When she was fully engulfed in what she was doing, I tiptoed over to the nativity scene to take a photo. I couldn't help but smile as I saw baby Jesus exactly where he should have been, safely and securely in the arms of his earthly mother, Mary.

Baby Jesus safe and secure

There, I was reminded of a verse of Scripture - " And she will bring forth a son and you shall call his name Jesus." Heather knew, without me telling her, that the baby's name was Jesus. Her Mommy and Daddy have taken time to teach her well and even though she doesn't fully grasp all His Name entails, I'm sure she understands He's very special.

The Bible tells us that children were very special and dear to Jesus. In the New Testament, we're allowed to witness a scene as Luke describes the event: "People were also bringing babies to Jesus for him to place his hands on them. When the disciples saw this, they rebuked them. But Jesus called the children to him and said, Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” We learn in this passage that Jesus loves children and he considers their innocent faith a necessary part of entering into His kingdom.

Although Heather doesn't yet understand the importance of the nativity story, in her little heart, she determined that Jesus was upset and needed comfort. When she took Jesus from the manger and carefully placed him into his Mother's arms, she instinctively knew that was the best place for him to be. And I loved how satisfied she was with herself after she'd completed her task. That one word, "there," spoke volumes to me. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jesus was okay and that everything was exactly as it should be and that's how she knew she could walk away and not worry about baby Jesus anymore.

Of course, we know, we never have to worry about Jesus! He is always okay and constantly keeping watch over us with His loving-kindness, and Heather will learn that one day, too. But, she did teach me a sweet lesson about childlike faith and she reminded me of its importance.

In closing, another verse of Scripture comes to mind but I'll only share part of it since it seems most appropriate, "...and a little child shall lead them." (Isaiah 11:6) We should all give Jesus the honor and respect due Him. At Christmas and throughout the year, we shouldn't just keep him firmly in the manger. We must learn to embrace Him and hold Him closely in our hearts, for that is the only way we can truly enjoy the true meaning of the season- love. "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life." (John 3:16)

May you have a very Merry Christmas and may you witness it, this year, through the eyes of a child! Don't keep Jesus in the manger...

The year is coming to a close

The beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains

Heavens! It's been a long time since I've written on my blog. I don't have any excuse other than life has happened and I've been busy enjoying it.

Since my last post, I've become a sexagenarian. Yep! My 60th birthday was a doozy. We spent it in the beautiful mountains of North Georgia. And while I don't feel one minute older than I did before I reached this humongous milestone, I look in the mirror and realize I am sooooo much older than I used to be.

Time seems to be marching ever forward and at an alarming rate of speed. It seems like yesterday was January 1 and now it's December 10th! Where has the time gone???? And why does it seem to move so much faster the older I get???? As time seems to be fleeting, I realize we truly are a vapor, here today and gone tomorrow.

Hubby and I in our Santa hats

At the time of this writing, my last remaining uncle on my father's side of the family has been admitted to hospice care. He isn't doing well and chances are, he won't be here through the end of the year. My mother is also not doing well. She's currently in hospice care, as well. The reality of the brevity of life looms overhead. And this truth causes me to stop and rethink my own mortality.

What do I want for the New Year? Usually, I set goal after goal in hopes of accomplishing great and mighty things. And while this is an admirable thing to do, I usually fall short and find myself wallowing in self-pity. So maybe this year, I don't need to make that list of New Year's resolutions. There's no need to aim for goals I know I can't reach. Instead, I think I'll focus on just learning to take one day at a time. That doesn't seem so lofty, and in fact, it seems like something I should have learned to do many, many years ago. Why haven't I mastered that feat yet? Why is it so difficult to practice the art of presence? Learning to live in the moment should be an easy thing but for me, it's not. I'm always, always, always thinking ahead.

Perhaps being given a second chance at life has helped hone my focus just a bit. Instead of taking life so for granted, I want to live each day forward with purpose. But how can I do that unless I become intentional about making each moment of every single day count? That's why I feel it important to learn to take one day at a time. 24 hours. 1440 minutes. That seems doable.

So I won't be making my long list of grand goals and plans for the New Year. That way, I won't disappoint myself. What I will do is take each day as it comes and enjoy whatever gifts or lessons each day brings. That sounds rather exciting, now that I think about it. Yes, that's exactly what I'll do. Starting now.

So much...

It's been a good while since I've had the time to post on my blog and so much has happened since I last wrote that I have no idea where to begin with an update so I'll just list some highlights (they may or may not be in chronological order, but I'll try me to remember correctly.)

• In mid October, I got word that my oldest daughter, Erin, was having problems with her pregnancy. Doctors wanted her to go on complete bedrest to prevent additional issues or a premature birth. Since she has four other littles, it quickly became evident that I'd need to travel to Texas to help out so my sweet middle daughter, Laura, and her family drove me to Mississippi and my son in law, Caleb, drove from Texas to Mississippi to meet us and he took me on back to their house. When I arrived on the 21st, Erin was still home and was so glad to see me. Since I got in late, it wasn't long before we were headed off to bed. In the wee hours of the morning, I was awakened by Caleb telling me that Erin was leaking amniotic fluid and they were heading to the hospital. I began to pray for their safety as they traveled since they'd be driving all the way to Corpus Christi, a 2 hour trip from home. When she arrived, doctors began giving her medication to help keep her from having contractions and we waited on pins and needles. Caleb stayed with her over the weekend and I took care of the children. 
• On the 23rd, Erin asked me to join her at the hospital. Caleb needed to go back to work and Caleb's mom would stand in the gap where I could be with Erin. I traveled to Corpus Christi and stayed overnight with Erin while she continued to do everything she could to keep from having the baby early. 
• On the 24th, Erin began to have contractions. Nurses kept telling her she wasn't in active labor but when they connected her to a fetal heart monitor, I began watching the readings and I knew she was definitely in active labor. Although the contractions were small, they were constant and Erin was in a great deal of pain. I felt an urgent need to pray for Erin so I placed both hands on her belly and prayed with all of my being. I asked God to protect both Erin and the baby and that if it was His will, that the baby would be carried to full term but if not, that it would arrive safely. After I prayed, Erin told me the sex of the baby. They'd kept it a secret and had hoped to only share when the baby came into the world. Since things were getting "iffy" she wanted me to know ahead of time. I was tickled to find out the baby was going to be another boy. I asked if they'd picked out a name yet, and she said they'd chosen the name Garrett. Garrett means warrior! I was in awe when I heard that because a couple of weeks before I told her that this baby was a warrior! Around 7:53 p.m. little Garrett entered the world at 23 weeks of gestation. He was so very tiny at only 1 pound and 3 ounces and only 11 inches long. I was so thankful I was right there when he decided to make his grand entrance and immediately after birth, he was whisked away by the neonatal intensive care team so they could make sure he'd have the best chance at survival. 
  
• Things were touch and go and we did a lot of praying, waiting, and trusting. On the second day after his birth, little Garrett was transferred to Driscoll Children's hospital so he could get the very best care possible. We watched God work out all the details of his transfer and were amazed that He even provided a room for Erin at the Ronald McDonald house right behind the hospital so she could visit Garrett easily. 
• When baby and Erin were settled, I went back to be with the other children and took over the homeschooling, cooking, cleaning, and even potty training. We did our best to help keep things as normal as possible for the other children and on the weekends, we'd all travel to Corpus Christi to see the baby and Erin. 
• Several weeks after Garrett's birth, I got the call that my mother wasn't doing well. She needed to have surgery to remove her colon. After surgery, she began to have complications and was transferred into hospice care. I was able to talk with my mother and she said her last goodbyes to me. It was an extremely emotional evening and I was distraught over wanting to be with my mother but knowing I had the obligation and duty to be there for my grandchildren. 
• After a month of physical and emotional support, it was time for me to head back home. It was hard to leave, but I had medical appointments I needed to attend. Thankfully, situations and circumstances changed with my mother's health situation and she began to improve. She was moved from hospice care back to the nursing home and seems to be doing fairly well now. 

To say I've been on an emotional roller coaster is the understatement of the year. Minute to minute things with baby Garrett change. He's already been through open heart surgery and has had so many procedures, medications, oxygen treatments, etc. that I can barely keep up. Today he began having seizures. 

It's taken time to readjust to being home. Every morning I wake up expecting to hear the children calling out, "Gigi, can you help me with this? Or Gigi, can we have pancakes for breakfast" or some other such comment or question. It's nice to be back home but the quiet is taking some getting used to. I miss all of them but I know God's got them and He's working out all the details. 

On Saturday, I'll celebrate my 60th birthday. I can hardly believe it. Most days my body reminds me of this fact but I don't necessarily like saying it. I am grateful to still be alive and this year, I hope to celebrate this milestone in a big way. 

Those are the major highlights. There are many minor ones but I can't handle thinking too much tonight. I'm still dealing with some PTSD from all that's transpired. Hopefully, I can get back to posting regularly. It's so much easier than playing catch up. Please keep Garrett in your prayers. Our teeny little super guy sure does need them.