About Mutant - a plan is afoot!

Last Thursday I had my first appointment with my gyn-oncologist, Dr. Bradford. I was hoping to learn more about the Mutant (someone suggested I name the cancer, and Mutant seemed as good a name as any) and what the plan was to get rid of it.  During an internal examination, the Mutant started bleeding profusely.  I had been bleeding to some extent, daily, for two weeks and without realizing it, I had also having symptoms of anemia;  fatigue, weakness, dizziness, dropping blood pressure, etc. Dr. Bradford decided to admit me into the hospital to watch the bleeding, because my blood count was already low and the bleeding would make it worse. I think she was also concerned that I might hemorrhage.  I was also experiencing some pain, which was fairly intense. I stayed in the hospital overnight, and by late the next afternoon the bleeding had subsided to spotting and I was released.

The initial biopsy had indicated that Mutant was low-grade, which indicates that it is unlikely to spread. But when Dr. Bradford did the examination, she could see that it had made some significant changes since the biopsy two weeks before, and that it may involve my cervix as well. I had an MRI done while I was in the hospital and it showed that the uterine cancer was stage two, which essentially means it has spread to my cervix, but from what they can tell, not beyond.

My next appointment with Dr. Bradford will be to discuss treatment options.  I really like Dr. Bradford. She is sweet and compassionate, and smart.  I felt taken care of, which is important for me, because I have a tendency to slip into caregiver mode at the slightest sign of need.  Especially in times of stress.

Every day when Grace messages me and asks "How are you?" I have to fight the immediate temptation to divert her attention by answering, "I'm fine, how are YOU?" I'm learning to answer honestly, and to trust her ability and willingness to struggle though this along with me. That applies to most of my loved ones, even Brian.

The focus for now is to rest and do whatever I can to keep from bleeding again.  With rest and gentle activity I seem to be doing okay.  I've been thinking of the bleeding as menstrual bleeding, which is inconvenient but not too troublesome. In fact, what is happening is that Mutant is bleeding, the miserable sop, and that is not a good thing, especially when it goes on for weeks.  Oops.

One of the things that I have to get used to is the idea of pain as a signal that something is dangerously wrong. I live with chronic pain, which means I have conditioned myself not to react to it. If my IC bladder pain is intense, it may need to be coped with, but it isn't dangerous.  When Mutant hurts, even a bit, it's a different thing altogether.

I'm still not sure how I am doing.  I find myself wanting to blurt out, "I have cancer!" at random times. Like when a waitress asks if I want dessert.  Or a telemarketer offers me a free Bahamian cruise.  Brian asked me to do his laundry the day after we found out, and I whined at him, "Really? I have CANCER and you want me to do your LAUNDRY?!" He grinned at me and said, "Yup." And then we laughed. Ah, good times.

Of course I am afraid.  I read that radiation treatments on the pelvic area can burn the lining of the bladder. I was, like, "Ahhhhhhh!" What lining of my bladder? It's already compromised! In fact, the idea of radiation treatments now has caused so much stress that I keep forgetting the word "radiation."  Seriously. It slips from my mind, and I keep needing someone else to fill it in for me.

I'm okay with that, though.  I am surrounded by loving, patient people, and I feel cared for and nurtured.  I feel scared and safe, in pain and comforted and so very loved.  A plan is slowly coming together to deal with Mutant. For today, I am okay. And that means a lot.

Just a thought.

Grace and Darren, A Visit from England. (Or the alternate title - The Quickest Three Weeks in History!)

Three weeks ago today, I was at the Trudeau airport in Montreal, waiting at the arrivals gate, staring intently at the people coming through the doors. My Grace and her love, Darren were arriving from England It had been three months since I had last seen Grace. I had yet to physically meet Darren, but I knew him well through Skype chats and instant messages, and through the best source of all, the woman who loved him. My daughter.

The reigning couple, at Yankee Candle

When they finally arrived, my world exploded into happy activity. Hugs and kisses for them both, the joy of holding my child again, of being with her. I may even have done a little happy dance, in spirit if not actually. Three weeks! We had three whole weeks together! So much to do, so many people to see, so much TIME to catch up and hang out and to talk and be like we used to be. Together!

I held on to every moment. I tried, I really did. Three weeks went by much too quickly and today I saw two teary young people off on a plane back to England and my heart hurts again.

Fish Fry

It was harder this time. For one thing, I was sending them both off, and I have grown to love Darren. He is everything I could have asked for in a partner for Grace. He is sweet and intelligent, unfailingly kind and creative and he adores Grace. Plus, don't tell him I said this, but he is beyond adorable. Like, seriously. The dimples? Oh my goodness!

It's so hard.

It feels a bit like the air has less oxygen in it when Grace leaves.  Like it hurts a little to breathe, to think, to be. I don't worry about her. Instead, I long for her. I want her with me. Or at least nearby.

Which candle to buy? Duking it out...

She belongs in England, though. She has blossomed there. She is happy, although I know that she misses her home and people very much.  She is surrounded by an amazing group of family and friends in England, and I know that for her, home is where Darren is. Seeing them together these past few weeks has been a joy.  They truly do take care of each other. They bring out the best in each other, and they encourage each other on to great things, especially in their faith in God.  It's so exciting to watch.

Leaving the Montreal Holocaust Memorial

I don't know if I'll ever get used to this, but I do know that I'll adjust.  Grace posted a status on Facebook this morning, writing about how grateful she was to have so many people in her life that she loves and misses. She's right, of course. The more beautiful life gets, the more potential, and likelihood there is that there will be pain.  That's part of the beauty of being human. The pain of loss and separation doesn't have to make us love less, in order to avoid it. We can choose to love better, more deeply, with more intent and freedom.  In this way, we make it worth the pain.  In this way, we transcend the pain.

In this way, love wins.

So...feels like time for a Skype date!

Baymax, from the movie, Big Hero 6, courtesy of Grace, Darren and
the endless winter of 2015.

My 2012 Gratitude List, part 4

2. I am grateful for the lessons in letting go that God has been sharing with me.  I wrote this in a blog post in June - "There is no magic in the letting go.  The freedom comes in knowing that by letting go, my concerns are then able to be picked up and cared for by One who is faithful and trustworthy, who loves me and those I love, who carries my treasures with the utmost wisdom and care. 

I don't always get the results that I want.  Still, I have a feeling that someday, somewhere, I will look back on this life and my walk through it, and I will see that I have received what I needed. "  

The freedom to let go is a gift of grace and mercy, and I am so thankful for it. It is a daily lesson for me, and I need continual reminders.  Part of the difficulty is learning  how to let things, issues or people go without throwing them away.  I am learning to continue to pray, to care, to love even as I let go, release and live freely.  I can love someone without needing them to be or do what I want them to.  I can let go of a problem while still doing what is needed to solve the problem.  There are things that are within my control, and things that aren't.  I can set appropriate boundaries, share my feelings openly, speak the truth and make my needs and expectations known, but I cannot make anyone listen, or care, or honor what I give them.

Letting go of that desire to make others respond to me in a way that pleases me leaves me free to love them, and to love them as I walk away, if that is what they wish or what is needed.  Similarly, I can do the things I know to do in response to any problem, but I cannot always control the outcome.  That belongs to God.  So I can trust Him, do my part and let the rest go.  I cannot describe the freedom that comes with this.

and...drum roll please...

1. The One who receives all of my gratitude for 2012 is God.  Oh, come now.  You were expecting that, weren't you?   God is the common denominator in all other things to be grateful for.  He is the Source of all good things in my life, the Root of all growth and change, the Light that guides my every step when I follow Him closely, the Love that flows to me, and through me, the Hope that each day will be filled with Him and therefore, good.  He has been my provider in ways that have left me in awe.

 Just recently I had a disconcerting moment, when I remembered that I was going to have to pay for Grace's Cegep registration this week. I had been so focused on buying the books, I completely forgot about the registration.  I didn't have the money, and had no idea how I was going to pay it. Immediately and out-loud, I said, "God, this one is Yours."  I gave the problem to Him.  I let it go. The anxiety dissipated, and I was at peace.  Just a few moments before this, my pastor had handed me a late Christmas card from someone in her other church. I had tucked in my purse to open later.  It was from someone that I have just been getting to know over the past year, an older woman who attends a Bible study that I also attend.

Later, when I  opened the card, a cheque fell out.  It was for twice what I needed.  I laughed out-loud.  Even before I was aware of the need, God had seen to it.  Not only had He met the need through this wonderful woman of God, but He gave more, so that purchasing Grace's school books wouldn't be such a difficulty.

I called my friend and told her what a tremendous blessing her gift had been.  It was important to me that she understand that the gift was more than just the money.  My friend had allowed God to show me, through her, that He really, really, really was talking care of me, anticipating my needs even before I was aware of them and meeting them, purely out of love for me.  He knows my heart.  He knows how much I want to trust Him, and He honors that desire within His children.  The most important thing that God wants to give me is Himself.  He is the gift.  I know I have said it before, but as long as I live, I will never get over the wonder and joy of being loved by the God of creation, the Lord of the Universe, the Master of all that is.  Any strength I have lies in this truth.  Every bit of life that is in me, is rooted in God's love.  Every hope that I have for the future lies in Him.

And for that, I am utterly, astoundingly, wonderfully, thrillingly grateful

Peace out.

Well, Hello Christmas Spirit! Welcome!

Grace and I put our Christmas tree up today, with help from her dad, Mark.  Needless-to-say, my house smells like an evergreen forest.  I love it!  You'll notice from the picture that it isn't decorated yet.  That's tomorrow's project. I have learned, over the years, that being chronically ill doesn't mean necessarily mean that I can't do things. It just means that I need to do them differently. Which means that sometimes, the Christmas tree has to be naked for a while until I get the energy/strength to decorate it. It's much more fun when everyone enjoys the process, anyway.

I have always been the kind of person that takes pleasure in simple things.  I have found, over the years, that this trait has often been a blessing. Today has been filled with pleasant things.  Some difficult things, as well.  But the nice things win out.  Like squash soup, made with a butternut squash that my friend, Sandy, gave me. The soup was incredible, rich, buttery and flavored with ginger and lemongrass.  Grace made a Asian pear tart for dessert, which was lovely.  She also cut out some pretty paper snowflakes and hung them around the house.  Tonight, a young friend came to play cards with me for a bit, and we had a nice visit.  I finished most of one of the papers due for next week, received a fun email from my favorite teacher as well as an early Christmas gift of a nifty door bell that plays different tunes, including Christmas songs ...and did I mention that my house smells as fresh and evergreeny?

Despite the tough stuff, like a difficult phone call this morning or the headache that haunted me all day, my world is filled with lovely things, and I am grateful.  Tired, and ready for bed, but grateful.

Maybe being grateful IS the Christmas Spirit.  There really is so much to be grateful for.

Just a thought.

October 17, 2012...Has it really been a year?

Today, October 17, 2012, is the first anniversary of my mother's death.   A year ago, at this time, Grace and I were driving to Cornwall to say good-bye to her.  I remember it all clearly.  The early morning phone call from Dana to let me know that she had died, sitting on the edge of my bed after hanging up the phone, feeling the cold emptiness of loss sift into my body and spirit, slipping into Grace's room to wake her up and let her know.  We dressed and got ready to leave quietly. I felt stunned.  I had expected it, but it was the kind of expectation that exists only in the mind.  My heart was completely unprepared.  How could it be? I had never known a moment of life without my mother in it.  Everything had changed. And yet the drive to Cornwall was a precursor to the oddness I would experience repeatedly in the days after my mum's death, as I drove through a morning world that had not changed, not one iota.   Driving through Huntingdon, sitting in class, pushing a grocery cart through the local IGA, seeing the world continue as usual while, on the inside, I struggled to deal with the absolute fact that for me, everything had changed.  My mum was gone.

I cannot express how grateful I am for those who walked this road with me, especially for my sisters who intimately shared this loss with me.  We all processed our loss in unique and individual ways, but we did it together as much as possible.  I am especially grateful for the care that Dana & Erin gave to Mum in her last days, and to Lori and Erin for being with her when she died.  I think of my daughter, who walked quietly beside me, praying, hugging, loving.  Madison, who greeted me every time I came home with a hug and compassionate eyes, and who understood when I felt the need to hide in the Mom-Cave at times.  My Aunts and Uncles, who shared this loss with me as they said good-bye to their sister.  Having already lost their parents, they faced this loss with grace and strength that was an encouragment to me.  My best friend, Sandy, who cried.  Ah, the friends.  They prayed, they cried, they offered words of encouragement and hugs and so much love, it overwhelmed me at times.  The friend who hugged me and said, "How are you?" in the hallways of school and really wanted to know.  The friends who sat with me in a restaurant in Malone and offered napkins when I cried.  The many friends who shared their stories of loss with me, and encouraged me that while the pain doesn't go away, it does mellow into memory and love and hope.  I am thankful for Jean-Luc, who curled up on the pillow beside mine every night and let me cry into his fur.  Of course, he did warn me not to make a habit of it. After all, he is Jean-Luc. 

Has it really been a year?  I have to admit, I feel better than I thought I would.  I am sad, but it is a gentler, kinder sorrow.  I miss Mum.  I am filled with gratitude, and I think that helps.  I will never stop being grateful for the time I had with Mum before she died, or for her motherly care for me in those days. 

So, yes, I guess it has really been a year. 

I love you, Mum.

Gratitude

You know, when I think about it, it seems so unreal that in just a few months after having to leave my home with nothing but our personal stuff and a pile of books, God has provided Grace and I with an apartment that we can afford, all the furniture that we need, a fully stocked kitchen, plus lots of room for all those wonderful books.

In the summer, we had a lawnmower to keep our lawn neat and a lovely, prolific little herb garden. In the winter, Mr.O'Connor, the sweet retired man next door uses his little snowblower to clear most of our combined driveway so we only have to shovel around and behind my car. In fact, he does all sorts of nice things for us, like dragging my Christmas tree to the curb for pick up and even bringing our garbage out for us once in a while. When I thank him, he never admits to helping us. I think he just likes to be a blessing. What a gift he is!

We are able to have a cat, Jean-Luc and the five rats for pets. They are happy and healthy, and give us so much pleasure. Our home is comfortable and cozy, and we love living here. When my mother was sick, our apartment was a safe, warm place to come home to. When she died, it was a peaceful place to mourn.

Then, there are the people in our lives. Our lives are filled with so many people now. Some are new and some are reconnections, but all are welcome additions to our lives.

Between school, church, neighbours and new friends, we are enjoying new relationships and experiences. We have Madison, who lives with us now and is such a sweet blessing. Our pastor, Barbara, is kind and caring, encouraging us in our faith and service to the community. Through the college, just a few minutes from our home, I have met some remarkable young people, reconnected with people from my past, been challenged to think about the world differently, to improve my French, and thanks to a certain, passionate young history teacher, to read The Brothers Karamzov by Fyodor Dostoyevski, and this time, to finish it.

God promised me, years ago, that if I would live my life in His service, He would always take care of Grace and I. He has proven Himself faithful. Most importantly, God's constant attention to our needs has given me the freedom to continue loving those who have wounded me, those who seek to build themselves up by tearing me down. God reassures me daily that as long as I choose love, I cannot be torn down. In fact, if I in love pray for those who seek to harm me and my family, not only will we not be torn down, but they may be truly raised up, to healing and to love rather than hate.

Tonight, I am just feeling grateful. In such a short time, we have been given a home of our own, a wonderful community of friends, direction for our lives and hope for the future. Our cup runneth over. Thank You, Lord.

The Gratitude of the Beloved

Jean-Luc got out this morning. That's not so unusual. Jean-Luc is an indoor cat, with aspirations that lean towards arctic explorer. It is easy for him to imagine himself plodding through the frozen tundra, exploring the icy nooks and crannies of our little neighbourhood, especially when he is sitting on a warm window ledge in the sun, looking out at the world. Once the frost starts building up on his whiskers and his toes get snow packed, the dream dies a quick, shivery death.

Then comes the meowing at the door. Loud. Insistent. Bold. One would think he had not just slipped out behind my back only 15 minutes before. One would think a mad dash for the closing door, risking injury to head and/or tail, would result in a longer escape outdoors.

Sometimes I am tempted to leave him out in the cold for a while. Teach him a lesson. But I never do. I can tell from the tone of his meowing that he fully believes that if I can hear his requests to come inside, I will open the door for him. Such confidence cannot be denied. If I did not open the door for him, he would not think me strong, or wise, or a lesson-teacher. He would think me deaf. Or asleep. Or away.

So, I open the door when he calls. Every time. As soon as I hear him.

There is something about his faith in me that inspires me to be there when he calls.

The thing is, as beautiful and funny and sweet as he is, he is not the brightest bulb in the pack. One evening this past week, we had a guest who smoked, and Jean-Luc escaped four times, every time our guest headed outside to smoke a cigarette. He forgets how cold it is out there. The world calls his name and he can't help but answer, the consequences of his last escapade long forgotten even if it took place just minutes ago.

In this, he reminds me of myself. How often do I head out into the "world", to do my own thing, to mess with something that is better off unmessed with? I screw up, lose my temper, do something that I know God doesn't want me to do, and find myself out in the cold, on the wrong side of the door. Calling to be let in.

It's not that God turns me out. I run out, on my own. And it's not like God forgets me or rejects me, anymore than I forget or reject Jean-Luc when he manages to scoot outside despite my best efforts. In fact, I am rarely more aware of him than when he is outside. There is danger out there. Cars. Dogs. Mean people. When Jean-Luc is out from under the umbrella of my protection, my heart and mind are on him constantly. I believe this is a reflection of God's heart for me.

When I am rebelling against God, and stray out from under His protection, He moves Heaven and Earth to bring me back. To bring us back. When He hears my cry, He answers. Always. Everytime. No matter what.

So, maybe I am a wuss where Jean-Luc is concerned. Maybe it's lame of me to jump whenever I hear him calling. And when he is curled up in my lap, leaving puddles of melted toe snow all over me, maybe it does occur to me that he needs to learn a lesson.

Then, I hear his purring, and remember the confident, expectant cry from outside the door. I recognize that cry. I recognize that confidence, that faith in someone who loves us more that we know, who asks, "What do you need?" instead of, "What do you deserve?"

I know what it is like, to see the door swing wide open, to feel the warmth flow out to me, from within. I have felt the strong hand of comfort on my back, as the ice melts from me and life is restored.

People say that cats score low on the gratitude scale. I beg to differ. After a quick bite from the food dish, I am usually the first place he comes to rest, the first warmth he seeks. He purrs, and trills, and rubs his soft, sleek body into mine.

His, like mine, is the gratitude of the beloved. We are secure in the passionate love of someone greater than ourselves, someone who knows how to open the door for us when we can't do it ourselves. Someone whose ear is tuned into our voice, our need, our cry. Can we respond in any other way but to return love in the greatest measure possible?

Good-bye, 2011. Hello, 2012.

At this very moment, bloggers all over the world are busy crafting wise and interesting blog entries to tie up and toss out 2011, welcoming in 2012 with all its mysterious and unknown glory.

Who am I, to buck the trend?

I have to admit, this time of year doesn't call me to look forward much. I don't do resolutions. The last time I did, I resolved to be more authentic, less of a people pleaser, and to write with courage and honesty, expressing the thoughts and feelings that I really had, as opposed to what I thought I was supposed to have. For the most part, I've been able to keep that resolution. I must have. I've gotten in enough trouble for it. Turns out, the real me isn't eveyone's cup of tea. Oh well.

What I do do at this time of year is look back. To be honest, 2011 was rough. Frikken miserable at times. Awesomely wonderful at other times. Just like life.

I cannot say that I have no regrets. I always feel an irrepressible urge to roll my eyes at the whole, "No regrets" thing. Seriously? I've made mistakes. I have sinned. I have hurt others. I'm not supposed to regret that? Of course I have regrets. Confession of our wrongs is the first step towards repentance, which leads down the glorious path of forgiveness when I bring my messes to Jesus. The fact that Jesus forgives my sins makes it possible to own them, to see the consequences, and to regret them. Then, to let them go. And if I can, make amends. If I can't, I can still leave that with God.

One thing I never regret are relationships. Even ones that go horribly wrong. I have made the choice in my life to never regret loving someone. Really loving someone. I don't mean wanting someone in my life because they make me feel good, and freaking out on them when real life hits and they prove to be as human as I am, and they are not serving their purpose of making me feel good anymore. That's not love. People are not tools designed to make us feel good. If that's what you want, get a dog.

I mean seeing people the way they truly are, and allowing them to see me the way I really am, and choosing to love anyway, even if they reject me because who I am is not what they wanted me to be. I never regret loving others, even when it hurts, because I believe that the hurt of not loving is worse than the hurt of loving and being rejected. Besides, because my Jesus loved me when I was rejecting Him, and I want to be just like Him when I grow up, with His help, I choose love.

In 2011, I learned to set healthy boundaries, to say no and mean it, and to accept the awfulness that some people carry around with them without letting that awfulness ruin my life. I got better at being hated without hating. I also saw that the ones who spur others on to hate and bitterness are not usually terribly supportive when the hatred and bitterness begin to bear ugly fruit. Sad.

I am wildly grateful for those in my life who have called me to a higher place of love and grace. I am grateful for God's forgiveness, and His love for me, which I still don't understand but am thrilled to live in daily. I am grateful to be free, especially from the heaviness of criticism and anger. I am grateful for my home, for the peaceful refuge that it is. There is freedom here, for everyone, to learn and grow with acceptance and love. No one is dominated, no one is diminished. It is safe. When I look at my home and those in it, all the lies and accusations that I have been living with over the past few years lie, filthy and broken, on my doorstep. They don't belong in here.

So, maybe I do have a few resolutions for 2012. I resolve to keep loving, in Jesus' power, even when it makes no sense. I resolve to care more about what Jesus thinks of me, and less about what people think of me. I resolve to let Jesus make me braver, stronger, more compassionate, more patient, more loving, more like Him. I resolve to reject lies, either from my own heart or from the hearts of others. There is a reason why God hates lies. Lies strangle the life out of God's people, bringing confusion and weakening us until we are useless for Him. Mostly, I resolve to follow Jesus wherever He goes in my life, even if it looks messy, even if others don't understand or approve, even if it hurts, even if I am scared and lonely and tired and even if the road that He is taking is the road I have always wanted to be on, and it all seems too good to be true.

Oh, I probably should tease my cat less. And exercise more.

Nah...just kidding.

Happy New Year, friends! Thank you for sticking with me, for reading my ramblings and for keeping me in your prayers and thoughts. I am grateful, grateful, grateful for my people. You rock. Like, seriously.

My gratitude list

I usually don't ascribe to lists. At least, not to legislated ones like daily gratitude lists. I tend to be a pretty grateful person anyway, but there are times when I find it useful to take the time to write down some of the things that I am grateful for. I think the usefulness of gratitude lists comes in their ability to round out reality, to help us see that beyond all the difficult, painful things that may be going on, there is also joy. Just as Christians are called by God to examine our hearts with honesty and faith, to make sure that we do not miss any attitude or belief within us that is unpleasing to God, gratitude lists provide us with an opportunity to examine the happenings around us so that we do not miss the good things that are taking place in the midst of the struggles. It's a reality check. And today, I needed a reality check.

So, first on my gratitude list is my amazing daughter, who is wildly passionate about Jesus, eagerly wanting to do His will and deeply devoted to His work and presence in her life. Connected to this particular object of my gratitude are her experiences at Burke Camp and the teachings, ministry and stellar example of her youth worker, Nathan Johnson, at the camp. He highlighted for her the one thing that she needed to hear - that Jesus is everything. Everything.

Actually, in his duties as preacher, Nathan was able to highlight that message for me as well. Grace and I have often spoken of our devotion to this truth, that Jesus is everything to us. Where once we were content to ask Jesus to help us in the difficult parts of our lives, now we are convinced that we need to just step aside and ask Jesus to personally deal with our difficulties, leaving us with the joyous task of praising Him for His faithfulness as we see Him work in our lives. Gratitude is a weak word to describe my feelings about Grace, and the wonders of watching my daughter not just fall deeper in love with Jesus, but determine to make Him her Lord and Master, the Forgiver of her past, the Constant Companion of her present and the Architect of her future.

I am also grateful for wise, devoted pastors and friends who swoop into my life at hard times with wisdom, encouragement, tea, hugs, truth, Kleenex, prayer and love. These days, I am never quite sure when the next heart-wound is coming, but I do know that within moments of its infliction the phone calls, Facebook/email messages and prayers are let loose in a flurry of encouragement and love. No boo-boo goes unkissed, no tear is left unwiped and no fear is left untended. All of it is God ordained. So often, calls come at just the right time, without my having to ask for help. Gifts arrive unexpectedly. Kindnesses abound without warning. It is all so gloriously God. The thing is that while the initial kindnesses minister to my initial feelings, the knowledge that it all originates in God gives me hope for the future, and in the reality that if a miracle doesn't happen, there are much worse wounds on the way. My friends cannot stop it, nor can they heal a ravaged heart. But God can. Therein lies my hope.

I am grateful, too, for many small things that make my days pleasant. A silly kitten. A kind cardiologist. My fan. My herb garden that is doing incredibly well. My room. My books. A safe and comfortable place to call home. Tea. The Huntingdon library. A car to use until my car gets fixed. Did I mention my fan?

So many things! So many people! So much gratitude!