Savoring the moments

 

Trout lilies in N. Georgia

The little things are the ones that count the most after a person has been diagnosed with cancer. Every sunrise, every sunset, and everything in between is precious. 

Time seems to become more valuable and less wasted, or in my case, it has. From the moment I wake until I crawl into bed at night, I'm using every second and thanking God I'm still here to use them. 

One of my favorite places to spend time is in the mountains, particularly the North Georgia mountains. There's something so special about being there. The air is cleaner, the colors more vivid. It's almost as if you're swallowed up by nature and I don't mind it a bit. That's why my husband and I schedule a trip there every year. And, though we usually rent a cabin, we'd love to have a permanent home there when he retires if it weren't so far away from the children. 

On our upcoming trip, we plan to visit several apple orchards. We love seeing the beautiful, fresh fruit and all the products made from them. We'll also make a jaunt to a few local wineries and sample their fare. I love buying from small wineries. 

The weather will be much cooler there over the next few weeks so we'll enjoy our first fire of the season, both inside and outside the cabin. Inside they usually have gas logs, but outside, we'll pile up some seasoned oak and enjoy making s'mores as we star gaze. 

If my foot holds up, we'll do some hiking and visit some nearby waterfalls. Since I injured my ankle a few weeks back, it's been a challenge to walk for long distances, we we'll see how it goes. I still have some time before our trip so I'll do some home remedies and see if that helps. 

Yesterday evening, we got hit by the outskirts or feeder bands of Hurricane Zeta. The winds were about 60 MPH and tree limbs were flying everywhere as they battered our house. The power went out and I had to scramble to get everything from the refrigerator into the deep freezer so we wouldn't lose our groceries. In the last hurricane, our power was out for several days and we lost an entire refrigerator's worth of food. We were so thankful that didn't happen this time and we were also grateful no trees fell this time. During the last hurricane, a couple of our neighbor's trees fell into our yard. They didn't do any damage to our property other than dent up the damp soil with their massive trunks and limbs, so we were blessed. And, our other neighbors were kind enough to cut up and carry away the big Pines. 

The holidays are quickly approaching and I think about how thankful I am to still be alive to celebrate them. One of my dear friends is praying for God to heal him of cancer before November 25th. I have no idea why he's chosen that date, but he has. I'm pulling for him but I don't know if I could be so bold if I had to face cancer again. 

The dictionary defines savor as to delight in or experience with pleasure. If only everyone would take time to savor the moments we're given in each day...

It's too bad I had to go through cancer to understand the concept of savoring moments. I shudder to think of all the minutes, hours, and days I let slip by while only getting through them instead of reveling in them.

Preparing to lose a friend to cancer

This weekend, I had the opportunity to spend some time with friends I hadn't seen in almost a year. During that time, cancer invaded their lives. 

It came as a surprise to me when I received the email. It said, "Stage 4 pancreatic cancer, spread to the liver." As soon as I read those words, I cringed. Pancreatic cancer usually takes a person fast. 

Our home church was hosting a women's crafting event. Since many of my old friends there know how much I love crafting, I was invited to participate. Since we'd moved many years ago, the hour and a half trip made attending every service difficult. We missed the fellowship, but tried to stay in touch through phone calls and the internet.

I eagerly accepted the invitation knowing I'd have a chance to see some of my dear friends and in particular, I'd get a chance to visit briefly with Jack, the one with pancreatic cancer. 

The day was lovely. The women and I had a blast making fall decorations and centerpieces. It felt good to be surrounded by friends. They didn't know it, but I hadn't been out of the house much over the past few years.

When our crafting time ended and we'd cleaned up the supplies, our husbands came in to see if they could help. We loaded them down with boxes to take to the cars. 

As Jack reached to take a big box from the preacher's wife, I was surprised. He was so thin. Cancer had taken a toll on his body, leaving his 6 foot frame frail.

Trying to help, I rushed over to my husband and whispered in his ear, "Take that box from Jack! He's too weak to carry it," but my husband shook his head no. I wondered why and was saddened that Jack was struggling under the weight of the box. 

A few minutes later, I understood why my husband refused to take the box. If he'd taken it from Jack, he would have wounded Jack's pride. Though Jack was visibly weak from chemo, he still wanted to be treated normally.

On the way home, I couldn't help but cry. Seeing what cancer had already done to my friend was upsetting. There was nothing I could do about it. 

When Jack had received the bad news, I was his first contact. He knew I'd been through breast cancer and I would be able to answer some of his questions. As we talked on the phone, I listened as he asked about every aspect of the cancer journey. I wondered how much information to share and how much to withhold. I didn't want to discourage him but knew he needed answers. So I decided the best thing I could do was be honest with the questions he asked and not divulge information on anything else. 

It's so difficult to know how to help a friend with cancer. Every case is different. But when a friend reaches out, it's our responsibility to be there for them, in any way possible. And that's what I've tried to do for Jack. 

My heart breaks knowing treatment is only going to make him weaker. I want to wrap my arms around him and give him a heads up but won't. I also want to reach out to his wife and let her know I understand how she feels. I know her fear, but I am trying to just be the listening ear. I want her to share her feelings when and if she wants to, I don't want to pry. 

The reality is that I'll lose a friend very soon to cancer. And while I don't want to believe it, I see it, right in front of my eyes. 

I hate cancer so much. I don't understand how one person can do so well and another have a totally different outcome. 

I honestly believe chemotherapy does a person more harm than good in fight cancer. That's one reason I refused it when I was diagnosed. I'd done my research and I'd listened carefully as the oncologist explained what may or may not happen. 

But each person has to chose for themselves. We do whatever it takes to stay alive and sometimes, that means taking the risk of suffering more bodily damage to do so. 

Please pray for Jack in the days ahead. Maybe, just maybe, the chemo will give him a few more months of life. And if not, pray that God takes him home quickly so he won't have to endure more pain. 

Life is so short. We can never take a day for granted. 

Cancer is so hard

 Last night, I got a text from a friend of mine who's going through chemo. He's having a really hard time and has been struggling through treatment but was more concerned about how his wife was faring than how he was doing. As I read his message, I could "hear" his worry and fear. 

At his request, I called his wife. She had no idea he'd asked me for this favor. 

As we talked, I let her lead the conversation. I knew, from past experience, she needed a friend and needed to be heard. 

I listened as she poured out her heart. Without coming right out and saying it, she was afraid of what would happen in the near future. She was terrified of being alone. And I couldn't blame her. Her husband's prognosis is grim. 

My heart broke as I listened. She tried to hide her tears but I could hear them. Mingled with my own, we cried together. 

I tried to reassure her none of us are promised tomorrow and that we can only focus on today. I reminded her of Scripture that says we're not to worry about tomorrow. 

She told me she'd been having a very bad day. She'd been faced with spiritual and emotional attack. I explained the feelings she was having were normal and it was okay to feel them but to remember God had promised never to leave or forsake her. 

We talked for a long time. By the end of the conversation, I could tell she was doing better. It's cathartic to pour out feelings sometimes, I said, and offered to be available whenever she needed to talk.

I'm so thankful she trusted me enough to share her deepest fears and concerns but I'm so very sad for my friends. I've been on both sides of cancer and neither of them are easy. 

If there was a way I could take the pain away, I would in a heartbeat but all I can do right now is be available. I promised her I'd give a listening ear whenever she needed it and I meant it. 

If you can, please say a prayer for these two dear friends. I won't share their names to protect their privacy but God knows who they are. 

I hate cancer so much. I wish we could find a way to cure it. Maybe one of these days scientists will figure it out. Until then, we just have to muddle through.

Glitter, glitter everywhere!

 

A few weeks ago, I had the wild idea to start a dress up box for my young granddaughter, Heather. I'd remembered how much her mother, my daughter, Laura, had loved dressing up when she was about the same age. 

As I began my selections for the dress up box, I remembered most little girls I knew loved shiny things so I searched for those specific items. 

On a trip to our local Goodwill, I found a beautiful blue gown with a white net overlay. The white netting sparkled with silver glitter and reminded me of a fairy princess so I bought it. I also found a pair of silver shoes and a beautiful pink tutu. 

Thinking those would be good first additions to Heather's dress up box, I brought them home and did what I always do whenever I make a purchase from Goodwill - I immediately wash the item. 

Dropping the princess dress and the tutu in with my regular load of laundry, I couldn't wait for them to come out so I could pop them in the dryer and then into her box. 

I went about my other chores for the day as the clothes were washing. 

About thirty minutes later, the chime on my washer indicated the load was done so I went to transfer the clothes into the dryer. 

When I opened the lid to the washer, I was surprised to see sparkly silver glitter on all of our clothing. "Oh well, I thought. It will come off in the dryer." 

Gathering the wet clothes, I chucked them into the dryer and turned it on heading back into the kitchen to unload the dishwasher. 

When the signal alerted me to the fact that the clothes were done drying, I went to take them out. 

After withdrawing a couple of items from the dryer, I found the glitter had not come off. All of the clothes were still covered in silver sparkles. This was not what I'd expected! 

I took all the clothes and put them back into the wash and set it to wash on a longer cycle and added an extra rinse cycle, too. 

Once again, about thirty minutes later, the washer signaled the cycle was complete. This time, when I transferred the clothes to the dryer, they looked okay.  

When they were dry, I took the large load of clothes to my bed and folded them. As I began to put them away, I was thankful I'd found some cute things for the dress up box. 

This morning, as I was preparing for my shower, I gathered my clothing and took it into the bathroom. After placing the clothes on the counter, I turned on the shower and stepped in. 

When my shower was complete and I was toweled off, I reached for my clothing to get dressed. As I grabbed my underwear, I noticed they were covered in silvery sparkles! "For heaven's sake!" I thought and then shook my head. I was just going to wear the sparkly drawers anyway. 

As I pulled the panties up, I was reminded of a funny story a friend had told me years ago. She'd had her elderly mother move in with her when the Mom's health was failing. She wanted to give her the very best care she could and that means she'd oversee all of her health needs. She'd scheduled an appointment for her mother to have a pap smear, even though the mother protested at the need for the test. 

On the day of the test, the daughter encouraged her Mom to take a shower beforehand. 

Finally, it was time for the duo to head out for the doctor's office. 

When the Mom's name was called for the appointment, the daughter decided to give her Mom privacy and not accompany her into the exam room. 

On the exam table, as the woman prepared for the pap smear by spreading her legs apart, the doctor exclaimed, "My, Mrs. Weaver, don't you look fancy today." 

The test was performed and when Mrs. Weaver went back out to the waiting room to meet up with her daughter, she said, "I don't know what is wrong with that doctor. He kept on telling me I sure did look fancy today and I have no idea why. I look like I do every other day." 

Walking to the car, the daughter tried to get to the bottom of the incident. She asked her Mom if she'd done anything special to prepare for the exam. Mrs. Weaver said, "I just took a shower and used that body wash you have in my shower and then I used some of that hairspray you have underneath the counter." 

Thinking for a moment, the daughter said to her mother, "Mom, I don't use hairspray." The Mom said, "Well, there was some under there and I thought I might better use some." 

When they got home, the daughter went into the bathroom and opened the cabinet. Underneath the counter was a can of sparkly glitter hairspray her teenage daughter had used the year before for a party on Halloween. All of a sudden it clicked! The doctor had said Mrs. Weaver sure looked fancy because Mrs. Weaver had sprayed the glittery spray in her nether regions! 

All of a sudden, she burst out laughing as she thought about the doctor getting a bird's eye view of her mother's hooha covered in silvery glitter. 

I never thought the glitter from the princess dress would stick so well to my undies, but it sure did. I don't think I'll be buying any more glittery things for the dress up box any time soon and I hope my husband doesn't notice the sparkles on my undies as I undress tonight. If he does, I think I'll have some (in the voice of Ricky Ricardo) 'splaining to do. 

Flatties unite

 Find your tribe they said. Okay. So where do I find a tribe of flat chested women? And where do I find ones who had no say in the matter? Facebook! Yeah. That's where. 

So I started looking for my tribe and found a group called Flatties. Cute. And appropriate. These would be my people. 

I submitted a request to join and answered the questions. Apparently, I passed the test. They let me in. Now I have a group of women who understand what it's like to go through life without breasts - thanks cancer. 

Of course, the choice wasn't only up to cancer. Yes, it was the cause behind the choice but the choice not to reconstruct was ours. We had that power. We were smart. We had considered all options. We chose freedom from more surgeries and the possibility of more infections and more pain. 

So what if our chests are scarred? At least we're still here. We are alive and we are strong. 

We wouldn't be human if we didn't have our moments of weakness, though. We'd be liars to admit we don't wish things had been different. Sure, we mourn our loss at times. And yes, we cry. A lot. Who wouldn't? 

Becoming breastless is tragic. The emotional, physical, and spiritual pain behind it is unexplainable but those who've experienced it understand. Yes, I need a tribe. 

In the group, I find women who are unashamed of posting photos. Their bare chested shots don't shock me. In fact, I find them quite brave. At least they're willing to take a risk - to prove cancer couldn't take all of them. I'm proud to call them friends, albeit virtual. 

There are days I don't like myself much. When I look in the mirror, I see ugliness, disfigurement, flatness. But, then I remember. The choice to be flat was mine. I could have chosen the route of breast reconstruction. I could have allowed the doctor to slice chunks of fat off my body and sew them in place upon my chest forming mounds of fake breast tissue that may or may not have survived. Tissue that doesn't survive is called necrotic. And when it dies, it has to be removed immediately. 

Reconstruction is a long, drawn out process and one I didn't care to participate in. Yes, I could have been a medical fake, a fraud, the great pretender...but I chose not to do so. I chose to let others see what breast cancer took from me. It took parts of my body but did not take the whole. I am still here. I am alive and I am proud of that.

October is more than pink ribbons

 The email almost slipped through the cracks of my inbox, but something in the header caught my eye. "You've been invited to attend a virtual walk for breast cancer," it said. Virtual walk, yeah, right. Everything has suddenly turned virtual it seems because of this pandemic. 

The calendar reveals we're almost at the end of September and what I knew was coming arrived a little earlier than last year. My inbox is quickly filling with breast cancer awareness messages in preparation for this October, or should I say "Pinktober?" 

Until I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I'd always thought of October as the month ushering in cooler weather. My family and I would enjoy all things Fall related - hay rides, trips to the mountains, visits to pumpkin farms, mugs of steamy hot cocoa filled with mini-marshmallows. October didn't remind me of breast cancer, that is, until that fateful day in 2014 when I'd heard my doctor dub me a statistic. I was one of the one in in eight diagnosed with cancer. 

My first Pinktober was fun. I embraced it wholeheartedly. I bought into the commercialism of pink ribbons and found myself enveloped in it. It felt good to sport my breast cancer hoodie. It felt like I was part of a special sorority, how naive I was back then. But lots of newbies make the same mistake. It's only natural to be all in, afterall, it makes one feel as if one belongs especially when cancer can make a person feel extremely isolated and alone. 

I'd also participated in a 5K walk for breast cancer. It had been an challenge, in more ways than one. Physically, I fought for each step forward. I'd just completed 28 rounds of radiation and that 3.1 mile walk just about did me in, but I made it and I was extremely proud of myself. 

But the next October that rolled around, I passed up the races. I wasn't as keen to buy pink ribboned products. I'd done some research and had found some organizations didn't allocate funds appropriately. More money was going toward administrative fees than toward breast cancer research and that made me angry. 

Then, I discovered a tell it like it is website called "Think Before You Pink." It presented the harsh reality behind some breast cancer campaigns and organizations. The goal of the site wasn't to demean those companies but to inform the under educated and debunk misinformation. I appreciated their devotion and found the information helpful. 

This October, the big breast cancer awareness push will still be on albeit differently. Because of the Covid 19 pandemic, many cities are opting for virtual walks. Participants can register and keep a record of miles walked then submit their total at the end of the race period to be counted toward fundraising goals. Monetary submissions can be solicited through websites. Contactless collections will help prevent the spread of disease, or so they say. 

While it would be easier to participate in a virtual walk, doing it "my way," I don't think I will and here's why. 

Instead of having friends and family sponsor the number miles I could walk, I'd rather use the money toward helping provide gift cards for meals or other well timed gifts to friends currently fighting their own cancer battles right now.

Forgive me for my negative attitude toward breast cancer walks of any kind - real or virtual. This survivor is over it. October is more than pink ribbons. 

I do appreciate the awareness "Pinktober" brings toward breast cancer but let's get real. The beribboned pink paraphernalia lines many pockets but it doesn't do much for providing new means of fighting cancer. 

Cancer is ugly and trying to tie it up with a pretty pink bow can't change that. 

Those affected by cancer want more. We want answers and we desperately want a cure. 

A virtual walk may prove to be a good thing for those wishing to participate this year. There may even be a few small cities who organize actual walks for mask laden walkers, but I won't be joining either. 

What I will choose to do is make phone calls, write letters, send texts, and make visits expressing my love and concern to those who've just learned about an uncertain future. I'll make myself available and I won't be throwing any pink ribbons around in the process. 

Call me cynical if you must, but I'd rather be truthful about a disease that continues to destroy lives. 

Pink ribbons can't change statistics, but maybe one day something will. 

Who's behind the mask?

Saturdays are always busy days for us. Usually my husband works in the yard and I work inside the house, but today we decided to venture out on an errand. 

It was time to buy our monthly groceries. Since money is tight with only one income, we always try to be thrifty. We'd compared prices at all of the local grocery chains and big box stores finding Walmart to be the least expensive, so that's where we decided to shop even though I don't really trust buying meat there, I agreed to go. 

As we pulled into the parking lot, we noticed there were no spaces close to the front of the store. The crowded lot said it all. Many were taking advantage of this beautiful day. 

We walked from the far end of the lot toward the store, masks in hand. When we approached, we noticed blockades set up to herd people in the "right" direction. An employee sat on a little stool making sure each person who entered the store had on the proper facial attire. Those without masks were turned away. 

The sliding doors opened as we stepped on the mat outside the entrance. I kept on walking and my husband grabbed a grocery cart following quickly behind me. 

First stop was the produce department, my favorite area. Hubby always tells me I spend too much time there but I don't care. I love fresh vegetables and don't mind cooking them. 

I perused the aisles picking up plump, juicy tomatoes, sweet Vidalia onions, luscious purple eggplants, and a heap of deep green Kale. Reaching for some artisan salad on a shelf above my head, I made the clear containers tumble down. A nearby employee scrambled to get them but I'd beat him to it. Our eyes locked and I wondered who was behind the mask. 

His dark brown eyes looked kind. I apologized for upsetting his display and he didn't say a word. I watched as he restacked the packages. He seemed frustrated and ready to move on. I wondered if he'd had a hard day. 

I quickly finished in the produce department and headed toward the aisle with canned goods. Another store employee was busy scanning and stacking items. I approached and asked where I might find sun dried tomatoes. She mumbled something and started down the aisle. She wasn't upset, but in a hurry to oblige. Within a few minutes, she turned to face me packages in hand. "Here you go," she said, her bright blue eyes sparkling. Thanking her I continued on. 

Next came the dairy department. I needed some cottage cheese and some hummus. As I rounded the corner, I almost bumped into an employee pushing a large cart with stackable blue crates. I manuevered around her and grabbed my containers of cottage cheese placing them in my buggy. She was still working next to me so I turned to speak to her. 

"Are you one of the grocery pickers, the personal shoppers for online orders," I asked. She replied in the affirmative. As we talked I noticed her large, round eyes, a beautiful shade of amber. "I'd like to thank you for all your hard work," I said, explaining that I usually use the online ordering service but had decided to come into the store for items myself today. She nodded her head and I told said, "I hope you know how vitally important your job is to those of us dealing with medical issues. I don't know what I would have done without people like you who took the time to select my groceries when I was diagnosed with cancer." 

At that moment, she stopped what she was doing and stood looking into my eyes. I hoped she could tell I was smiling even though a tear was forming in the corner of my right eye. We stood like that for several minutes, just looking at each other, and then I patted her arm and said, "Really, thank you so much. Whoever you're picking for today may never thank you, but I want you to know I value you." 

The gleam in her eye let me know she was smiling beneath her mask and she'd accepted the compliment with pride. 

I knew she needed to hear a good word and it felt amazing to offer that tiny gesture of kindness to her. 

As I pushed my cart toward the deli, I glanced around the wide space in front of me. There were people from all walks of life and all of them hidden behind masks. As I looked at them, I felt sad. So many failed to make eye contact with those around them, instead choosing to ignore the fact that they were in the presence of others. 

I wanted things to be like they used to be. Last year, when I'd gone grocery shopping, I'd often strike up conversations with those I met in the aisles of the store. I could see entire facial expressions before speaking and I'd know, by body language, whether or not it was okay to approach. 

We were made for community. A little paper or cloth mask shouldn't have the power to destroy that fact but it's already done so much damage. 

Yes, there will be those who believe masks are for the best but there will also be those who believe them to be detrimental to both health and emotional well being. 

As we see more and more public venues requiring masks, will anyone pay attention to the one behind the mask? Will we take time to actually "see" each other, even if the only evidence of humanity are the eyes? 

I hope I'm not the only one wondering who's behind the mask. Every individual matters, and everyone could use an extra measure of kindness. 

The Bible says, "Be ye kind, one to another." Though no one may see your smile behind the mask, the eyes can say it all. Look at those around you. Lock eyes. See them. And in so doing, pray they'll see you, too. 

We're in this thing together. We might as well make our encounters count.

Hold on to Hope

 

 

Have you ever had a day where you felt oppressed, like a heavy cloak of despair smothering you? I have. Yesterday was that kind of day for me. 

There was nothing about the day, per se, that I could pinpoint, I just felt sad and overwhelmed. To be honest, I felt hopeless and out of control. 

As I thought about all that's going on in the world, my spirit cried out to God, "How much longer, Lord?" I wanted all this Covid junk to be over. 

This holiday weekend, my husband and I had gone out to run a few errands. As we sat outside a store and talked before going in, I watched the people entering and exiting the store. Every single one of them had on a mask. To me, it looked as if they had all been brain washed. They walked aimlessly forward, masks covering their faces, like robotic soldiers on duty. The ones exiting did the same. The only difference was most of the ones exiting the store eventually removed their masks, but not all of them did. 

My heart grieved for our country and I wondered why we'd fallen into such a state of compliance. Where had our free will gone? 

I was reminded of a story I'd heard many years ago when I taught kindergarten. The story was about a strong willed child and how he refused to sit down when asked by the teacher to do so. Over and over again, she'd asked the child to have a seat. Each time he'd fought back. Finally, after the teacher placed her hand on his shoulder and gave a strong push downward, he sat cross legged on the floor. The teacher thought she'd won the battle and spoke to the child in hushed tones. "I'm so proud of you, Johnny, for having a seat like I asked you to do," she said. Johnny, still seated on the floor, folded his arms across his chest and said, "I may be sitting down on the outside, but I'm standing up on the inside." His story resounded in my mind as I opened my car door and prepared to walk toward the door to the store. 

Paper mask in place, I reached for my husband's hand as he was fastening the loop of his mask over his ear. We were wearing our masks because we weren't allowed to enter the store without them, but I wanted to scream aloud, "I may be wearing my mask on the outside of my body, but I'm not wearing it on the inside." 

I've always been a person to follow the rules, for the most part, anyway, but the mask mandate seems ridiculous. And when my husband complained about not being able to breathe well while wearing a mask, I wondered how others with health issues get past the mask mandate. 

Sure, many stores don't have a mandatory requirement for them right now, but I'm sure it's coming. 

When one freedom is removed it makes one wonder what's next. 

 

And are there others feeling as hopeless as I've been lately? I'm sure there are. 

 

I've stopped watching the news because it makes me feel anxious and unsettled. You know it's been said ignorance is bliss and sometimes, I think that statement is correct. Sometimes it's better not to know all the details of what's going on in our society, especially when there are so many hope robbers these days. 

 

I love the poem by Emily Dickinson -  

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

 

Hope. Such a small little word with such profound meaning. How do we cling to it? The only way I know is to grab hold with both hands and never let go. But the power behind those clinging fingertips must be faith, for without it, our grip will surely fail. 

 

I hold onto the fact that one day soon all of this will be over. I can't wait for the day Jesus returns. Are you ready? I hope so. 

Preparing for the Sneak Attack

 My husband and I like to watch good movies, especially ones with interesting plots. Recently, we watched a movie about soldiers on a secret mission. It was a nail biter. Sitting on the edge of my seat, I wondered at every scene, what would happen next. 

As one of the main characters in the movie wandered through enemy territory, you could feel the tension rising knowing danger lurked at every corner. Just as we thought he was going to make his way out unscathed, bullets ripped through the air tearing through his camouflaged material and lodging deeply in his chest. For the next few minutes, we wondered if he would live or die. Surely, they'd keep him alive to continue the story line, right?! Thankfully they did. 

Many of my friends know I've been working on writing a book about my breast cancer journey. It's been a long, tedious process. Reliving memories has made me feel like a soldier returning to previously conquered enemy territory. It's felt ominous and oppressive. 

But even though it's been challenging, I've slogged on. I am determined to finish my mission by year's end. This is a personal goal so I push through. 

Today, as I was writing, I wondered why I feel so compelled to write the story of my journey. Will it matter, one way or the other, if anyone reads what I write? Probably not. Will it be beneficial in helping someone else on their own cancer journey? I hope it will, but who knows. So why write? 

Perhaps it's to smother past demons that lurk in the dark shadows of my mind. Maybe exposing them will help with my own healing. But can I ever be truly healed from the trauma of breast cancer? I'd like to answer a resounding yes, but I'm just not sure. 

What I do know is this, time is said to heal all wounds. If that's so, and I've just recently passed the 6 year mark, I should be well on the way to becoming whole again, but then again, maybe I'm not supposed to return to my old normal. 

I hate the phrase new normal. It's popular among the pink sisterhood, but I don't like it. Nothing is ever really normal anyway, is it? I mean, day to day, everything changes. Nothing remains the same. 

So maybe writing the book is only cathartic for me. Maybe I'll complete it and then hit the delete button after I'm done, who knows. 

I'm usually not a wishy washy person but today, I feel that way. I wish I could be more positive, like a friend of mine who's dying of stage 4 cancer right now. No matter what she goes through, she smiles. I don't know how she does it. 

I've always tried to be a Pollyanna. My rose colored glasses have always been perched tightly on my nose but today, they're sliding. I keep reaching up to push them back in place. 

Maybe I need a little encouragement and motivation, or maybe a swift kick in the rear! 

Now that I've vented, I'll return to writing, for a little while, anyway.

Crafting can be dangerous!

 

Anyone who knows me knows I love crafting. To date, I haven't found one I didn't like. This week, I've been playing with polymer clay and have had fun creating a new line of creations I'm calling "Woodland Weirdos" for lack of a better name. 

Yesterday, my morning started early. After a cup of cappuccino, I pulled out my duffle bag of goodies and got busy. In front of me was a huge stack of clay, a pasta machine, some wood slices, twine, superglue, glue gun, gluesticks, paint, stain, and a bunch of moss. What in the world could I do with all of that? As I was thinking the creative juices started to flow. 

First, I conditioned the clay. Running it through the machine, I watched as the hard, dry clay became soft and supple. It reminded me of Scripture - He is the potter, we are the clay. 

When the clay was workable, I began to shape and mold it. I wanted to do something unique and interesting. As I pushed and pulled the clay, I began forming a face. Wanting to give it character, I stretched the nose and pushed up the cheekbones. When I'd gotten it as I wanted it, I took a dowel and formed the pupils in the eyes. I stood back and looked. I was pleased. (Which also made me think of Scripture and how God must have felt right after He'd formed creation, "...and it was good.")

Placing my little old man face on a sheet of wax paper, I popped him into the toaster oven and baked him for about 40 minutes. 

After he was cool enough to touch, I opened the bottle of stain and worked it into the crevices I'd created in the clay. The dark brown stain sunk in quickly and revealed the detail of the facial lines, exactly as I'd wanted. 

Later in the day, after the stain had dried, I polyurethaned the clay and let that dry about an hour, then the fun began. 

I wanted to adhere the clay face to one of the wood slices. In order to permanently adhere it, I needed to use a strong glue. A glue gun would provide instant adherence but I knew from past experience it could soften and melt in heat or even pull off in extremely cold weather. Since my little guy was doing to be an outside decoration, I had to opt for the superglue. 

Pulling off the cap of my superglue gel, I carefully squeezed out a few drops on the back of the clay face and quickly pushed and held it onto the wooden disk. The instructions on the glue said it would take about a minute to completely adhere, so I sat and held it tight. 

A minute later, I held up the wood and shook it to see if the face would stay in place. It did and I was happy. On to embellishment...

I needed to give my little man more character and interest. Looking at my pile of goodies, I came up with an idea. I'd make him a woodland creature, a woodland weirdo! 

Taking bits of moss, I began to glue and build, but unbeknownst to me, some of the glue inadvertently got on my index finger. And then, I touched that finger to my thumb. BAD NEWS! My finger was glued fast to my thumb! What to do, what to do??? 

I tried to pull the digits apart quickly, to no avail. They were stuck and stuck good. The superglue worked amazingly fast on human flesh. 

I asked Siri to find out how to remove superglue from flesh and He said (I have an Australian male Siri because I like his voice) to use nail polish remover. 

I knew, under my bathroom cabinet, there was a partial bottle of nail polish remover. I couldn't remember if it was the non-acetone kind or the acetone kind. I hoped and prayed it was full acetone because that would be the only way I could dissolve the superglue. 

Thankfully, the bottle had about a thimble's worth of acetone in it and it was just enough to unstick my stuck finger and thumb. Boy, was I glad! 

I continued working and created a dozen Woodland Weirdos. I had such fun forming and decorating each piece. 

As I looked over my work, I thought to myself it was time to reopen my Etsy shop. I'd closed it early last year when I got tired of posting and selling art, but I thought their might be a market for something cute and creative like my weirdos so I just may put them online to sell. 

Art has been wonderful post cancer therapy for me. When I'm creating, whether it's painting, writing, or doing some sort of craft, I don't think about how much my back hurts or how depressed I might feel. It's been a true blessing and I'm so thankful God has given me the talent to do the things I do. 

I did learn a valuable lesson while creating my weirdos, and that is to respect the superglue! It does a wonderful job for providing quick crafting adhesion, but it also does a great job of sticking skin to skin. 

In the future, I think I'll choose another glue. Superglue is too dangerous for me. That's my story and (pun intended) I'm sticking to it.

Choosing Joy even when it's difficult

Being cooped up in the house during the pandemic has been challenging. Until a few days ago, I'd done reasonably well but realized I wasn't myself. Usually, I'm upbeat and happy but I'd found myself struggling with feelings of hopelessness and depression. That's when I realized, I'd lost my joy. 

These days, it's hard to find joy. Being separated from friends and loved ones is awkward and painful, but for someone with cancer related low immunity, it's not only a necessity, it could be detrimental to my health.

We've had a lot of gloomy, rainy days lately, too, due to a hurricane brewing in the Atlantic. Those gray days have also added to feelings of sadness.

I realized I'd experienced these feelings before, when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer. Back then, my physical maladies caused me to revel in self- pity. I was so me focused, I couldn't see anything else.

It took a while to realize what was happening. Becoming so comfortable with those feelings, I wore them like a heavy, woolen cloak. Days and days, I'd let the weight of that thick garment smother me but then, something happened.

One morning, as I sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee and looking out the window at a beautiful sunny day, I realized I'd lost my joy. The longer I sat there, the more I thought. "Where had my joy gone," I wondered, "And when had I lost it?"

Although I couldn't pinpoint a time and date, I knew it had to have been around the time of my diagnosis because that's when it felt like my world had fallen apart. And though it had been six years since surgery, I was still struggling with my emotions.

That's when I realized I had to do something about it. I had to get my joy back. There was no way I was willing to live under a cloak of darkness.

But I didn't know where to start or what to do. So I began to pray. I asked God to help me find my joy again and in my spirit, I felt Him speak to me, "Praise Me."

I thought I did a pretty good job of that already. I always got up early and spent the first part of my morning with Him. I made sure to spend time in the Word meditating. I always took time to pray but the more I thought about it, the more I realized, I was usually asking God to answer my needs and requests for those I loved rather than focusing on His character, His goodness, His mercy, and His grace.

So I decided that had to change. I was going to find my joy by focusing all my attention on Jesus. To do that, I was going to have to make myself intentionally focus on His love and I was going to have to shift my perspective. I was going adopt an attitude of gratitude.

Looking outside the kitchen window, I saw some beautiful red and white flowers on a plant my son had recently given me. "Thank you, Lord, for your beauty in nature. Thank you that my son wanted to give me a gift. Thank you he chose to come visit me." A few minutes later, two little house wrens jumped on top of my charcoal grill and began to tweet the most cheerful song to each other. "Oh, if I could have joy like that," I said, "Lord, I would be so happy!" Again, He spoke to my heart, "Praise Me."

Picking up my iPhone, I quickly found the My Music icon and asked Siri to find a praise and worship station. I wasn't in the mood for lyrics, so I chose an instrumental station. As I listened, an old familiar favorite began to play, "Bless the Lord, O, my soul" by Matt Redman.

As I listened to the words, my heart began to calm and I felt myself began to weep. All those feelings of pent up sadness began to flee. The light of worship was dispelling the darkness. My heart, in tune with His, was exactly where it should be - He focused instead of me focused.

Sometimes, we find ourselves in seasons where we must hunt for joy. During those times, it's important to be intentional about looking for reasons to express gratitude. Often, it's hard work. When a person is feeling down and depressed, the last thing one wants to do is express thanks. But it's in the thanking that joy explodes. Just like striking a match to a bundle of dry kindling, one small ember gives way to a blazing fire. We must be willing to pick up the match and strike it. To do that, one has to deliberately choose.

I'm so thankful God helped me realize how to regain my joy. My match was tapping on a cellphone app and allowing the words of a song to rekindle the fire of joy inside. As I sang along to the instrumental music, the words ministered to my heart as I praised God.

I made a mental note to choose joy. I knew this would become a discipline in my life but it would take practice. One of the ways I could implement this new exercise into my life would be to start each day by writing down three things for which I was thankful. I chose to end the day the same way.

As I've intentionally searched for reasons to be grateful, I've been able to see more clearly that God continually blesses me each day.

If there are two words I want you to take away from this post, they'd be - CHOOSE JOY. Though they seem simple, they take effort. But if you're willing to work at it, soon you'll find the practice of daily gratitude something you enjoy immensely. Before you know it, it won't seem like work any more, you'll see things and realize His great blessings without much effort at all.

We serve a good, good Father. He enjoys blessing us. That's why I think the psalmist wrote, "But you are holy, O you that inhabit the praises of Israel." Psalm 22:3

When we worship, the presence of the Lord dwells among us. That feeling of complete peace and love is enough to make any heart sing with joy. Try it! If you've lost your joy, you can find it again. I promise.

Today and every day, choose joy.