But Jesus...

This past week end, my two dearest friends, Sandy and Cathy, came to spend the week end in Massachusetts with me. They stayed in a hotel in Gardner, and I spent Saturday night at the hotel with them. It was brilliant. We went to Texas Roadhouse for supper, I got a 1$ pair of Batman pajamas and Sandy and I both bought robes that were so soft, they're like being wrapped in kittens. Alive kittens, of course. Purring, alive kittens. Glorious.

Then we watched a silly movie, laughed a lot and went to sleep. The next day, after a yummy breakfast, I got to take my friends to what has become, in my mind at least, my woods around my pond. 

And of course, in, around, over and under all of these activities, we talked. And laughed, and cried.  Okay, I didn't cry. I'm not sure why, you'd think I'd have reason to, but I haven't yet.  I'm too busy COPING. Although having Sandy and Cathy here just made me so happy, I forgot about coping. I was just really, really happy.  There was such a positive spirit. I think I really needed that. It's not like we don't have troubles. Mutant may be the reason we got together, but we are all dealing with some pretty heavy, painful stuff. And much of our conversation was about what is going on in our lives. We shared our pain, our concerns and losses and feelings about potential losses and fears about moving forward into more potential pain and struggles.  Still, we laughed a lot.

The thing is, Sandy, Cathy and I are all united in one area. We love Jesus and know that if we ever let go of Him, these trials we are in now are going to feel like a frikken picnic compared to life without Him..  Our hearts would break. I love how Cathy calls Him "sweet Jesus." She's so intimate and loving. When Sandy and I share pain that we never could have imagined living through, always one of us, in some way, says some version of, "...but Jesus..."

 For example, when I talk about how radiation might affect my already wounded bladder, how my urologist winced when I said that I might need radiation treatments, when I think that after 15 years of IC pain, Mutant might leave me with an even more damaged bladder, and in even more pain than ever...then I pause.  And look into the faces of my friends. I see their compassion, their frustration and, yes, even anger that this is happening to me. We take deep breaths. Hope nudges us. We nod thoughtfully, and someone inevitably says, "...but Jesus..."

But Jesus will give us strength.  But Jesus knows what we will be going through, and He is preparing us. But remember that time when we went through *insert trial here* and we didn't know how we'd make it and somehow we did? Because of Jesus?

Cathy, who has been through more than I can even imagine and who has a faith and love for God that is an inspiration to anyone with eyes to see and ears to hear, read this out loud to Sandy and I -

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you will know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” James 1:2–4

 I think our unity comes in our belief that our struggles can be redemptive, that God is making us gentler, kinder, more patient, more selfless, more loving.  Stronger in all the best ways. In the holy ways. There is a fragrant air of peace and hope in our sharing, it is a place of rest and restoration to me.  Even my body was strengthened.  It was what I want to be for the lovelies in my life, my people who mean the world to me. 

I have a feeling this is the calm before the storm.  That's okay, because Jesus...

Just a thought. 

Of Mutants and Cockroaches and Being Okay

In the four days since I found out about my cancer, I have watched a three part Ken Burn's documentary called "Cancer, the Emperor of Maladies,"  a Canadian documentary called "A Day without Cancer," and I'm in the middle of 'The Bucket List," a movie that I've seen before and enjoyed about two men with end stage cancer who chose to spend their last days fulfilling their bucket lists.  I've also spent so much time googling uterine/endometrial cancer that Google has started asking me, "Are you sure you want to see this AGAIN?"

Everyone deals with this stuff differently, I think.  What I want to do is talk about it incessantly, but that's not always possible.  While talking about it may decrease my anxiety, I have seen that it increases the anxiety for others, which is the last thing that I want to do.  So I listen to others talking about it on Netflix.

The problem is that the enemy is invisible.  Although I have to admit, calling cancer "the enemy" feels weird because it's my own mutated cells.  The freaking little mutants.  Wouldn't it be nice if life was like a movie and mutated cells gave super powers instead of being death nuggets? Like spidey senses? Or the ability to fly? Or even better, the ability to stalk computer savvy teens without them knowing it?

But alas, my mutated cells are of the garden variety, the kind that grow in weird places just because and make a nuisance  of themselves. Or worse.

It's kind of like discovering that while you were out, someone came into your house and released 5 000 000 cockroaches in it.  Hours ago.  You stand in your living room, your skin crawling, the hair on the back of your neck bristling. You can't see them.  Not even one. But they're there. Doing whatever evil, disgusting things cockroaches do.  You want to run out the door screaming like a banshee, never to return. But this is your house! Your next impulse is to burn it to the ground. But again, your house. You have to live here.  You do a little ninja dance of horror, stomping on invisible bugs, scratching your head and arms compulsively, and cringing as you think of the places they might be. In your underwear drawer! Your kitchen cupboards! THE BABY'S ROOM!!!

Eventually, when you are ready, you take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders. It will take a long time. It will be hard, really, really hard. You will lose things, items that you treasure but just can't keep anymore.  You'll have to get used to the crawly skin feeling because it's not going away any time soon. You'll sweat and hurt and cry and rage and talk about torching the house a lot before you're done, but one day, you will be done.

I stand in the mirror, staring at my house. Frowning. I know where my mutants began, where they were released, but have they had a chance to check out other rooms? I run my fingers through my hair. Damn. I don't want to lose my hair. I really, really don't want to lose my hair. I'm not going to look good bald.  Although, my mad scientist eyebrows could use a good thinning. Of course, losing my hair, even having chemotherapy at all is not a sure thing for me. I may not need it, if the mutants haven't spread. So that's something.

I haven't gotten to the ninja dance of horror yet. I'll probably catch Schmitty licking my toast some morning and go ballistic. Should I warn my family, or let them be as surprised as I will be?

All I know is that it's going to be okay.  Or more accurately, I will be okay with whatever it is. Because God. And my people. And cats. And sun and Spring and music and love.

Just a thought.

Moving on...

Wow, it has been a while, huh?  One thing that you can be sure of is that even if I am quiet here on the blog, God is still moving and working in my heart and life.  Sometimes the silence means that He is working so much, I can't express it in words.  Which for me, is something.  

         Picture courtesy of shantihp.blogspot.comhant

So, what has God been teaching/working in me?  So much of the wonderful (and yes, difficult) stuff in this blog is relational. This is no different.  I am discovering that I am ready for another romantic relationship.  It has been a journey. The details aren't important at this point.  The important thing is that I am discovering so much about myself, and about God and the reality of how He has changed me, and is changing me.  I love the promise that God makes, that He will be faithful to continue the work that He has begun in us.

So, remember all those posts that talked about how God was teaching me how to set healthy boundaries?  I now know that His work was true, and I am able to set healthy boundaries and to hold firm under pressure to do something that I am not comfortable with, or be someone that I am not.  I can be graceful and kind, but firm.  I feel brave, and hopeful.  I can say hello, good-bye, and even hello again to someone new.

I know more about who I am as a life partner, and what I want.  I have been and am being challenged to trust, to open myself up, to reach out.  And I am grateful to God's lessons on boundaries, because knowing where I end and someone else begins creates safety in relationships, for both of us.  I know what I am responsible for, and what I am not.  I am learning patience, and peace.  I am learning that it is okay to not always know what to do, and it is okay to wait until God makes it clear.

And I am learning that I will always be learning.

I like it.

Who would you be if you could be you?

As a Christian, I firmly believe that the hard and painful events that I experience can produce good things in my life and the lives of those around me, if I turn to God in my pain and rely on Him for wisdom, strength and guidance.  This isn't a Pollyanna thing.  The Bible often describes these sorts of things as akin to giving birth.  Or planting  a seed - laborious, painful, life from death.

I hope that as I write about my life here, I in no way give the impression that the belief that my suffering is meaningful leaves me lilting through my digitally remastered world singing, "Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down..."  It just ain't so.

Still, there are moments when I realize what I have gained in the midst of the losses.  One of those gains has been a clearer perception of who I really am.  Over the past several years, rejection from my primary community and some significant people in my life has left me deeply wounded.  And surprisingly, free to start over...as the real me.

Does this mean that I was faking all along? Of course not.  Very few of us are fully aware of how we are shaped and molded by the ideas and expectations of those around us. It's just not that cut and dried.  Even those of us who consider ourselves individualists and rebels often define our rebellion by what society considers normal.  Sometimes, making a choice to be different is, in itself, a reaction to societal expectations and not a true representation of who we are. What if we really do like Taylor Swift songs?  Or Kraft Dinner?  Or...*gasp*...reality shows?  We are all in the process of becoming, and the path is a twisted, winding one.  We do the best we can with what we know.

As much as it hurts, there is something strangely freeing about being rejected by one's community and significant others.  It gives us the opportunity, not to re-invent ourselves, but to find out who we are and to become more fully ourselves.  Ideally, in any healthy community or relationship, the freedom to grow and be ourselves in an accepting, intimate connection with others exists.  Failing that, though, being tossed out on one's keister is the next best option.

I have been experiencing this over the past several years, and it is an adventure.  To be honest, it's more of a  "taking the One Ring to Mordor" adventure, but an adventure none-the-less.  I have a handful of precious women who have remained close;  strong, compassionate and brave women who have loved me in the midst of my messiness with the passion and dedication of God Himself.  I have also been making new relationships.  This is where the fun (and scariness) comes in.  I am 46 years old.  I want to enter new relationships as myself, not conforming to what I think people might expect from me. But who am I?  How much of who I am now is me, and how much of it is about trying to move safely through the world without getting rejected again?

 This is especially hard after so much rejection.  Rejection for being me.  As I grow and heal and learn, I am discovering who I am, and becoming more comfortable with myself.  I am also becoming more comfortable with the fact that some aspects of who I am will not make me popular with others.  The people-pleaser in me is dying a slow, painful death.  Ouch.

I sometimes find myself making almost formal announcements about who I am to myself, in my journal or in my own head.  To sound it out. To gain courage.  To get to know me.  So, I'll be lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, and inside my head my "public speaking" voice comes out and I will boldly announce to myself - "I am the kind of person who cares more about the well-being of the people around me and less about the fact that I don't have one piece of new furniture in my home...and probably won't for a really long time."  or " I am the kind of person who does not let go easily, who is deeply hopeful, and who will never allow myself or my child to be pushed around or abused again."

And then, there's this, "I am the kind of person who turns to goo whenever anyone says that they read my blog.  Because I am proud of it.  I might get all gushy and excited.  Or giggle.  Because I truly am honored that anyone reads this stuff.  I might even make you cookies..."

You know what is really special?  As I am travelling this road, and becoming more real, I am discovering a rich, loving community that seems to be perfectly fine with who I am.  I know I keep going back to the idea of community, but you cannot imagine how valuable you all are to me.  Or maybe you can.  While I don't want to be defined by my community, I am learning who I am partially by seeing myself in their eyes.  Last fall, while I was sitting on a friend's floor playing with his dogs, he commented that the dogs liked me because they sensed my character, and that it was good.  For him it was probably a random thought.  For me, it was a gift. You see me like that?  Even when I am being really, really me?

God is my Creator, my Transformer, the One who guides and leads me.  My community is the beautiful forest that I get to grow up in.  I'm not absolutely sure who I will be as I grow to be me.  I do know that God has promised to complete the work that He has begun in me (Philippians 1:6).

So...who would you be if you could really be you?

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.