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Little Losers… and I have sticky notes to spare.

From Foster Care Training class tonight.

Loss, loss, loss.  And more loss.

As a FOSTER PARENT you stand to experience loss in some or all of these areas:

• Schedule / Routine
• Finances
• Space
• Time w/ your current children
• Control of influence on current children
• Sleep
• Boundaries
• Time with family & friends
• Relationships as you currently know them
• Diet / Meal preferences
• All preferences
• Lifestyle
• Privacy
• Physical Energy
• Emotional Energy
• Choices
• Freedom

And of course, the foster child attachment if/when she returns home

***************

The BIRTH PARENTS will suffer some or all of these losses (remember this, don’t judge, they’re only human and they will experience loss too):

• Reputation
• Support
• Rights
• Possessions
• Self Esteem
• Acceptance
• Job
• Financial Assistance
• Freedom
• Family
• Choices
• Children – perhaps the one thing  they thought they did right in life (by keeping them)

***************

As for losses the FOSTER CHILD will suffer…

step into her shoes… This is you:

Start with your NAME… your identity.

Then add the following:

1 person you love the most

The person or people that have taken care of you or raised you

Something that you enjoy being a part of

Your title or job

1 positive characteristic about yourself

1 Hobby you enjoy

1 item that’s most important to you

and 1 thing you believe in above all else

Now imagine the person you love the most is taken away… Far away.

Along with that your identity – everything else you value is taken away: all of the people you know – family, siblings, friends, teachers, neighbors, everything you are a part of as well as your favorite possessions, and you are removed completely from where you live, your home, and your own life as you know it.

(If you don’t have a faith you believe in, you may be stripped completely and back to the 1^st stick figure)

Perhaps all your sticky notes are taken ALL at once.  Without any warning.

What then?   What keeps you going on?  What do you have that keeps your desire for living at all?

Now. Imagine you’re 7 years old.

…

A FOSTER CHILD will go through some or all of these stages, typically more than once:

• Shock
• Denial
• Anger
• Bargaining
• Understanding
• Coping

All of which will be displayed in a number of ways and mostly directed toward YOU, the Foster Parent.   For example, even though she’s not angry at you, she may exhibit anger toward you as she learns to cope.

Although we discussed the birth family, kinship, and adoptive families as well, I realized something tonight…

The FOSTER CHILD experiences the most loss.

While that may just be my opinion, it seems all of the other players can go on.

But even at the point of understanding and coping, when things would start get better for an adoptive child settling in to a new life,  the foster child will still be forced to live day by disappointing day in the darkness of that which is an open ended season of… waiting… living with shreds of hope in a situation they have no absolutely no control in.

“Will today be the day I go home?”

“Will today be the day my mommy gets better?  Will today be the day she chooses me, and comes back for me?”

As I learn, and boy am I learning, I am realizing just how tough this could be.  Fostering a child  has the potential to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done – and I’ve done some hard things.

We were informed that as foster parents, we have signed up to become “Loss Managers” for the child.  Wow.  What a term.

I have struggled with the thought of losing my lifestyle, time alone with Jacey, relationships as I know them, privacy, and the freedom of doing what I want, when I want, with who I want.  But those thoughts fade when I envision the lost confused eyes of a precious child waiting and waiting with fading glimmers of hope, needing only and simply what EVERY child has a right to:  to be taken care of & loved appropriately.  I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ll learn.  Because the cost and loss I bear are but pennies in comparison.

…Among this company of losers, I am the least of these.

A friend sent me a message recently.  One of the things she said has stuck with me.

“The need love, and they will suck it out of you, but may rarely return it.”

I continue to learn more and more how much harder it will be than I realize, and though it breaks my heart, I only want to do it all the more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

God, This is YOUR child.

Prepare me as well as Jacey in every way.  You direct the timing, You equip me to do this WELL.  Pour through me Your very self.

And be with her now.  You know her name.  Protect her in the waiting and prepare her heart too.

In Jesus’ name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear future foster child,

Suck the love out of me.  Drain me if that’s what you need.

Because I have it to give… plenty of yellow sticky notes – stacks of every color…

and I know it won’t be easy for you to take them from me –  you may fight me tooth and nail.  But I’m not going anywhere.

I will love you.

When your parents aren’t capable of meeting your needs, I will be the best damn substitute that I can, until they can.

When you need time and space, take as much as you need.  I will be patient.

And when you’re ready, I will hug you tight.

When you feel invisible to the world, I will bear witness to your life.

When noone else will tell you your worth, I will remind you every day.

When you can’t trust, can’t cope, can’t speak, and when it’s hard to even breathe or believe, I’ll hold you.

I will love you.

I already do.

God just keeps wrecking me

Have you ever felt that way?  Have you ever experienced so much until your worn thin and you figure surely God will give you a break for a while; that after a season of a wide load of suffering and processing and healing… and learning from all the suffering and processing and healing, that the Big Guy is finally done and will politely leave you alone for a minute? And then He doesn’t.

He’s never done.  He just keeps wrecking me.

“If it was His will, I hated Him for it…”

These were just a few of many words from a gripping poem written by our pastor whose wife was killed in an accident two years ago.  But the poem was written just two months ago.  It’s amazing to me how the life transforming things that happen to us just become, and remain, a part of us.  I once heard another pastor challenge the congregation to remember this when someone experiences loss, to go and visit them and feed them and hug them not just the week of the tragedy, but long after the visits and casseroles stop coming, because even way later – they still hurt, still need comfort.  As time changes things, and though wounds may no longer be fresh, their loss remains no less.   Pain remains.

“Time doesn’t heal all pain, it’s the Cross that heals all pain.”  Challenging words from this morning, as we were reminded how  unfortunate it is that we all go through suffering and yet we fail at knowing how to truly go in and sit with and be of real help to others in their own struggles.  This is for a few reasons:

1.    We don’t know what to say so we either engage in painstaking small talk saying stupid things that don’t really matter or we resort to “chin up” clichés that are really more like a slap in the face to the one that just plain hurts.

2.    We judge others for why they are in their suffering.  We might say ‘Oh he’s where he is because he’s a drug addict or embezzled money or lied so that’s his fault as opposed to meeting him where he is in the suffering aftermath.  Jesus never did that.

3.    We rush to put a cap on the pain by replacing the hurt with things that make us feel good. We shop, we exercise, we trade one bad relationship for a new one, all the while never allowing the pain to fully process.  This is never good.  Jonathan, our pastor, made a gutwrenching statement this morning about this tactic:

“Pain that is never fully processed will always continue to shape our lives and who we are.”

Woah.  Check please.

I didn’t want to go there, frankly because I didn’t think I needed to.  But I’ve said before that I know I’ve only got one short life, I don’t want to miss a thing God has for me.  I want to live it fully and experience every morsel.  Well, that being said, I thought, maybe I should go there, just for a minute think on this, just to be sure… I do want a full life… & I do NOT want it to be shaped by crap.

And then the welling up began… as layer by layer God ruined me.

First, ugly ol’ pride began to well up in me as I sat and processed these things.  I thought of  people who could really stand to hear the part about “no judging- just be there” …

And then I remembered times I had judged and people I’d hurt.

Then sweet ol’ comfort began to well up in me as the friends of faces came to mind that had looked past my circumstances and met me, loved me, and comforted me in the depths of my mud.

And then I remembered how rare that is…. And faces came to mind that are suffering and how little I’ve done to meet them in their mud.

Last, a dose of relief began to well up in me as I thought of those big wide loads of life I could thankfully say I have fully processed.  I put in the time, I cried every tear, I resisted the clichés and trekked through the valleys of healing and endured the inner operations down long roads of recovery.  No caps on my pain.  I’m good to go.  Next.

But God wasn’t done.  He kept digging.

As I recalled with satisfaction those big heart operations, one by one I checked them off my list with God.  Layer by layer He removed those things… Little did I know what He was up to.

When layers are removed, deeper things are revealed.

I found myself surprised as God went deeper.  My check off list stopped, but He didn’t.

Sometimes we come across junk that isn’t quite ready for the trashcan but we’re not quite sure what to do with it or where it should go,

so the junk gets kicked under a bed or stuffed in a corner somewhere.

The other day Jacey proudly came to get me to show me how well she had cleaned her room.

When I walked in I gave her a big smile and told her how great it looked.  And then I said… “should I get on me knees and check under the bed… maybe check out what’s behind this door?  Or do you want to do that and then come back and get me?”  She opted for door number two.

God took me past the big rooms, down the halls, and further still to the corners to show me some things I’d forgotten about.  He showed me some hurt.

“Out of sight-out of mind” can trick us into not pursuing closure, and eventually, if I really want to live fully and missionally, effective as a mother, friend, and anything else God calls me to be, I need get the junk out of the corner and deal with it.

As I sat with God today, my prayer was for honesty and faithfulness in everything he puts on my plate.  And I could honestly say that once the junk came out from under the bed, I didn’t know where to put it.  All I could do was cry at the thought of what I need to do to take care of this unfinished business.  But I don’t want it around anymore, so where does it go?   I was clueless.  “God I don’t know how to process this…. I don’t know what to do with it, where do I start?”  And His response was basically, “Think ding dong, I’ve already told you, you already know.”

And faithfully as ever, scriptures came to mind.  Simple scriptures.  The blunt kind that don’t beat around the bushes but just say clearly,

Hey… When you want this, it’s simple, “DO THIS.”

When you need healing, do this.  (James 5:14-16)

When you need provision, do this.  (Malachi 3:10)

When you need forgiveness, do this.  (Mark 11:26)

When you want to help others, do this.  (James 1:27)

When you’ve reached the bottom of your checklist and still need reconciliation, do this. (Matt 5:23)

And if you need wisdom, just ask for it, and I promise I’ll give it, generously. (James 1:5)

I asked, and He answered.  Plenty.  “Okay okay okay,” I thought, “I got it.”   Ugh.

Apparently I still have some confessing, repenting, forgiving, adjusting, and processing to do, along with a couple letters to write, and maybe a few visits too.  Ugh. Ugh. Ughhhhhh.

And apparently still some more heart transformation… and a lot of prayer.

It’s tough stuff.  I mean like uuuugggggghhhhhhh-tough.  It’s not easy to deal with the forgotten junk.  It’s weighty, and there’s no place for pride. I already feel a sense of weight lifted just in the realizing, but just realizing is not enough.  Now I have to do the work.  But I can only imagine the doors that open wide when we are faithful to press through and get to the other side of it, when it’s finally ready for the trash can.  And I would wager that as we do, we might just get better at going in with others, and meeting them in their mud.

I don’t know why I ever think for a second I’ve learned enough for now or that He’ll leave me alone for even a minute. He’s just not done.  He’s never done with me.  He just keeps wrecking me.  He keeps ruining me.  For good.  And each time He chips off more of me, He replaces the junk with mind blowing blessings, and fills me with more of Him.  And though sometimes I “UGH”… I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Woah Baby! I’m so lame.

Last week I had lunch with a friend that got my thoughts swirling on some things I just can’t seem to shake.

Mary works for DHS, and she shared with me a story of a 17 year old girl who is living in a shelter right now.   She can’t live with her mom right now, not sure what’s up with the dad, but ultimately until someone provides a temporary home for her, she’s stuck living in a shelter.

Stuck.

Living in a shelter.

17 years old.

I have had thoughts before of foster parenting, especially after reading this short but heartwrenching story, but like a lot of good ideas that disappear when they reach the point of inconvenience and require action, they quickly faded and I went on about my life.  But hearing about a situation firsthand made it all just a little closer to home.  And home is what I thought about…

My mind raced as I listened to Mary share and explain how foster care works, the required classes, the financial help, the risks as well as the blessings.  My heart was getting heavy.

Could I help?  There’s no question I was willing.

But…. So many buts…

Do I have room?  Do I have time to give another child?  Am I financially capable of feeding another mouth?  What if I get hurt?  What would Jacey think?  Good grief Jacey is now 9 years old! Where the heck did all the time go??  Will she ever have a sibling?  When? How? WHY am I just now wondering these things??

Later that evening I walked into my office to get something and came to a horrible realization.  I have an entire room reserved in my home for a personal office… AN ENTIRE ROOM.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love it.  It’s painted black with white French doors, built in book shelves, and 5 big windows draped with white swagging treatments.  The open floor and mirrored closet doors give me space to work on dances.  And the view is just breathtaking.  Sitting at my desk I can look to the right and see the downtown skyline, and to the left I can see the capitol, as well as a beautiful sunrise any morning of the week.

It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of having in a home office.

But that day, and every day since then, when I go in to sit at the computer or work on choreography, or jump on the treadmill, I can’t help but wonder if the space couldn’t be used for something more important.

I mean seriously….

A 17 year old is living in a shelter and I have an entire room dedicated to my Mac, my treadmill, books and pictures.

LAME.

Selfish, ridiculous, outrageous, all words that come to mind when I think of how obvious some needs are and how completely oblivious I can sometimes be to my own ability and power to help  _IF_  I’d just DO SOMETHING.

When I think of how blessed I am and what a beautiful thing God did to bring Jacey into my arms, and then ponder all of the children right here in this very city that have no parents, no home, no loving guidance… it breaks my heart.  One of our pastor/teachers, Ben, often asks “Is your lifestyle up for negotiation?”  I don’t want to be the kind of person that believes it’s possible to put a dent in the world’s misery, even encourages others to pitch in and help, while I sit on my…   ellipses are lovely…

I don’t even know if this is  God’s will for us, but I’m open. I do know one thing, if God opened that door today, if that 17 year old had been a 5 year old, as much as my heart would love to say yes, I’d be going to bed in tears, because I’m still not qualified or prepared. Being willing isn’t enough, I need to get prepared, get available.  So I did all I could do.  I took the first step.  I contacted DHS.  Check!

While I would personally prefer to take in an older child, given the greatest need due to the lack of people that are willing or desire to take in a child in older age ranges, I don’t have a peace about that with Jacey; there are too many reasons and scenarios that I’m not comfortable with.  Her protection is my first concern.  But outside of that I’m pretty open.  I could absolutely eat up a toddler, they are so SPUNKY!  What if God gave us a boy??? Woah.  or a BABY!  O my word… that just sounds… nuts!

This morning Jacey and I discussed the whole idea after I asked her to read out of James.  I explained foster care to her, because I wouldn’t want her to confuse that with a sister or brother that she gets to keep forever, and so that she would understand the scripture and why it is I felt we should be open to it.  While we may be blessed in the end, it’s not for us that we’re beginning the process, but for a child in need.

That being said, Jacey would love to help a child in need…

that is her same age…

and a girl.

And she wants bunk beds.

And of course, in the true sense of selflessness, she’s already called dibs on the top bunk.

Now, I don’t know if it’s connected somehow, but just about an hour later in the car, Jacey asked yet again if she could see pictures of her “birth angel”… “You keep forgetting to show me,” she said.  I hadn’t forgotten.  Hmmmm… Maybe tonight.

Jacey has always known she was adopted.

We began reading “Tell Me Again About the Night I Was Born” by Jamie Lee Curtis early on and the chats grew from there.  But I’m sure it must take on new meaning for her, as she grows older and understands it with each passing year and with life experience.  Perhaps her own story and first hand experience of adoption will help develop that heart of pure religion that James talks about… I really hope so.  I pray that all of our experiences grow Jacey’s heart for God and His ways, and His children – not in some legalistic traditional sense, but in ways that set her apart, give here intimacy with her Savior as well as give her eyes that see the hurting, a heart that beats for those that have not, and hands and feet that don’t stall or hesitate, but “go barefoot” as Leen would say.  As her mom, I know that right now we are called to make our lives open and available to the hurting that need a place to turn, to if nothing else, be available…  and while that can manifest itself in ways that are a leap of faith for me – alone… whew… it is so much more to consider when I look into Jacey’s eyes, it means so much more to trek the path of faith, ministry, and love with her hand in mine.  I know the journey my own heart and life have taken with God, but to imagine what He’s doing in hers…  Wow, wonder what God will do there…

From everything I’ve experienced, I just know wherever God is doing something, He’s usually at work in a zillion places & people doing many beautiful things, with many purposes at once, so I look forward to seeing what He has in store for us as we open this door and take those first steps.

If you’ve ever considered foster parenting, and maybe just put it off or don’t feel you have enough information to move forward, allow me to make it a little easier for you… click here.

Verse for Today

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress…

James 1:27

Lyrics for today

If we gotta start start somewhere why not here…

If we gotta start sometime why not now…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something here is wrong, there are children without homes

But we just move along to take care of our own…

There’s so much suffering, just outside our door

A cry so deafening … we just can’t ignore…

My Cancer Story, Part 5: Healing! :)

(( Before you get started… please take a moment to start at My Cancer Story, Part 1: Hope … quite a road through Hope and Hell took place before reaching the end… I think you’ll find it’s worth knowing the beginning ))

The word faith sounds lofty, and beautiful.  Unfortunately, it’s used so much in cliché’s that we can easily forget what it really looks like to live in it.  It is beautiful, truly believing in what you cannot see opens up doors of blessings and miracles we’d otherwise miss out on.  But there are costs.  Your plans & desires have to be traded for something better and your patience can be stretched in the waiting.  Your comfort zone is blasted to pieces, making way for wide open spaces of challenges and experiences you’ve never encountered before.  It grows you from the inside out, and your heart and mind go through the fire, being molded, refined and altogether transformed.  And people won’t understand, they don’t get it, and that can sometimes leave you standing alone.  But in faith you stand.  Even when they laugh in your face.  Which is exactly what my doctor did.

“The purpose in our meeting today is to discuss your next surgery and look at what our options are so we can make a plan of treatment to move forward with after the surgery…”

Psssshhhh!!!! She MUST be crazy!!!

I didn’t say that, but I sure thought it.  No way in hell was I ever doing treatment again.  This was THE END of that road for me.

With much respect, I kindly told Dr. Walker that while I understood and appreciated her perspective as a physician and a surgeon, I felt differently.  I explained to her that I had been looking forward to this surgery for some time and that I had total faith that God had already healed me.  For me, this surgery was simply about confirming to everyone else that the cancer was gone.  I had no doubt that this was the case and I looked forward to that reality coming to pass.  I added however, that “IF I am wrong, if you do find cancer still in this body, I’ll just go home and be with my family.  I will never take chemotherapy again.  But I don’t think that’ll be the case.”

She didn’t chuckle.  She didn’t snicker.  This woman had the audacity to all out, full belly laugh in my face.  It was a hearty laugh, the kind that throws your head back.  She thought I was joking.  And the joke was apparently the funniest thing she’d heard all day.  But I wasn’t laughing.

“We have to be realistic…”  she said.

Silence came over me and I had a lump in my throat that didn’t allow me to speak.  My dad doesn’t get lumps in his throat, so he had no problem responding.  He gets red and a little shaky when you upset him to that point … like a bomb getting ready to blow up.  But I was so proud of him.  While he was visibly upset, He stood up with his tall demanding presence and simply said, “Thank you for your time.”  He proceeded to open the door for  us, motioned for me to get up, and we left.

My other cancer doctor totally understood our frustration and knew how I felt, but she wasn’t pleased with us walking out.  “That was one of only two doctors in the city that can even perform this surgery!”  I responded, “Yeah, it’s probably best if I don’t meet him before the surgery then, because anybody that is going to stand in hard opposition to the faith that is my very healing, is not putting his hands inside my body.”

The next doctor and I didn’t have a pre-surgery meeting.  Instead we met in the doorway of the surgery room as I was being rolled in.

This was what they called a “second look” surgery.  Blood tests can only give you an indication of what’s going on in your body.  At some point, in order to actually see for sure whether or not cancer tumors are left, you have to go back in.  Just like the first time, this was also supposed to be outpatient – I should have been going home the same day.  And just like the first time, I again found myself still laying in the hospital bed days later.

The doctor hadn’t come by.  The nurses weren’t telling me anything.  My stay was dragging on and on without any word.  While I was frustrated with the extended stay, and with the lack of forthcoming information about the surgery results, I was at peace.  I was tired, worn out, anxious, but at peace.

Finally, the doctor came in.  His face didn’t let on to anything as he approached my bedside.  He asked how I was doing, if I was feeling okay and entered into some small talk.  I wanted to scream – “Just tell me already!”  And after what seemed like an eternity, he finally said simply that everything “looked good”.  The tests didn’t show anything and they didn’t really understand it but everything was clear and I was free to go home.

“Everything looked good?”  uhhhhhhh…THE UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE CENTURY!!!!!!!

He could downplay it all he wanted, I remembered vividly the pictures of tumors smothering my insides until they stacked on top of each other.  I recalled the diagnosis of the worst possible stage and being given 2 years to live – at most.  I felt every emotion, every tinge of every drop of chemical injected into my body, lived every long day of the past several months on this rollercoaster of hope and hell, and I had mustered up everything I had left in every crevice of my being to refuse the statistics and live weakly, but in faith.  His casual words meant something far beyond the realms of looking “good” for me.  It meant I was cancer-FREE!!!!!! The hell was over and I could LIVE AGAIN!  Oh how I wanted to jump off of that bed and yell and run and dance and fly!!  Being strapped to the IVs and still weak and in pain from the surgery, all I could do was smile, as wide as my mouth could stretch and assure that doctor that God had done it.  He healed me.

While the doctor was tripping over his words and clearly doing his best to be professional in all his complete confusion by the results, I wasn’t confused at all.  I knew full well why he couldn’t explain it, because it was a miracle.

A nurse came in moments later, smiling and happy that the doctor had finally come to give me the report and release me.  She apologized over and over that my release had been delayed these days and asked me if the doctor had explained to me why they’d kept me.  He had not.

She went on to tell me that over 50 biopsies had been tested and every one of them had come back clear!  Because they couldn’t believe that was possible, all of the biopsies were sent off to be tested again with the same result, and yet again, and still not a trace of cancer was found.  NOT A TRACE!

Can you say HALLELUJAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Faith is being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see.  ~Hebrews 11:1

Is any among you sick?  … and the prayer offered in faith will heal the sick, and the Lord will make you well.  And if you have committed sins, you will be forgiven.  ~ James 5:15

Healing AND forgiveness?  Isn’t it just like God to be a multi-tasking Master, being about a million things at once – each thing being enough in and of itself…

I wouldn’t wish cancer on my worst enemy, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  It was the best thing that could have ever happened to me.  As my mom put it in a prayer, “If you had made your healing known to us the first time we prayed for it, how else would we know you like we do, how else would we know we need you like we do…”

I could list a million things and write pages upon pages of the knowledge I gained, the beauty of each lesson learned through the journey, and the countless blessings that I would have never seen had I never had cancer.  If it had not been for that season of cancer, I would have never moved to Oklahoma City, become involved in so many beautiful opportunities of ministry, or met and fell into deep life long relationships with all of the amazing friends I have come to know and share life with.  If it had not been for having cancer, I wouldn’t understand so acutely the depth of struggle and suffering of others in sickness, and life would be a lame excuse for existence because I wouldn’t know the precious value of it that I now understand on a daily basis.

And if it had not been for cancer, there would be no Jacey.

And above all things, that is something I just cannot comprehend or imagine.

Isn’t it also just like God to turn our greatest sorrows into our greatest joys, take our worst struggles and tragedies and trade them for blessings beyond the best of our wildest dreams, and in His divine goodness turn our mourning into dancing!

Almost three years after I left that last hospital room, I found myself in another, standing bedside of the most selfless woman I’ve ever known, and seeing before my very own eyes an even greater miracle than God healing me of cancer… the birth of my daughter.

God. Is. Good.  All the time.

And all the time, God is so very very very very good.

And I don’t deserve it.  There is nothing special about me.  I have failed him and walked outside of faith and it pains me to say honestly that in my humanity at times even forgotten that goodness and gone my own way.  But in His grace, He is still good.  He never lets go.

Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him, how I’ve proved Him over and over…

Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus, O for grace to trust Him more.

Thank you, for journeying with me through this process.  It has refreshed my grateful heart and meant so much to me to document, to put a stamp on that which changed my life and remains a part of me forever.  I am forever grateful to the many people that stood by my side both close to me and from far away, offering powerful prayers, in faith.  It has taken me through tears and laughter, joy and pain to trek back through these memories, but my prayer is that it will encourage hope to the suffering, and someday it will bear proof to my sweet Jacey of God and how real He truly is – that she will know how precious she is, how much God loves her, and what all He brought about in order to bring us together.

But please know that I write it to share God’s story, not mine.  He gave me life, and does daily, the least I can do is testify to His power at work.  I know that many stories do not turn out as mine did.  I’ve cried with those who have lost a loved one to cancer or other illnesses and I wouldn’t dare say that I understand God’s plan or will for each of us.  The bible says His thoughts are not our thoughts, his ways are not our ways.  What I do know is that we do not understand healing in the way He does and we cannot comprehend with our human mind the beauty in true, perfect healing from this world that takes us home to be with Him in  heaven, a place beyond this world of struggle, where…

He will wipe every tear from their eyes.  There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain…  ~Revelation 21:4

While I overflow with gratitude for the healing God did in me… I know too that I got the short end of the stick, for it is far better to be with Him.

But until that time comes, I will settle for walking through this life with Him in faith, pursuing a more intimate relationship with him day by day, knowing that as I remember what He has done for me I can press on, being sensitive to His presence and His miracles that continue to take place all around me.  For now, until He calls me home, that is enough.  How could I ask for more?  He is more than enough.

My Cancer Story Part 4: Hell.

Chemotherapy is like this:

Drink a gallon of bleach, followed by a gallon of ammonia and have a seat.  You won’t have to sit long before your body responds.  Simply put, it sucks.

My first trip to the cancer unit immediately threw me out of hysterectomy-depression mode into chemo-shock mode.  I walked in to a room overcome with frail, bald women hooked up to IVs. I had never seen anything like it in my life.  This sick, weak vision of life was about to be all mine.  Tears welled up at seeing the brittle, delicately living patients all around me.  I felt despair creeping up in me.  I think that’s the first time I actually felt fear for my life.

The night after my first treatment I found myself in raging pain.  My mom cried as she held me in her arms while I screamed bloody murder and cried my eyes out.  It felt as though my body was being taken over and destroyed chemically from the inside out.  I’ve never felt pain like that, before or since.  It was a nightmare.  Thankfully they changed my dosage after that time, but it still left my body in agony with every treatment.

The horror stories of side effects with cancer care treatment are a dozen a dozen.  Even the simplest things like a heightened sense of smell is a curse.  I once smelled my brother in-law’s cologne from the bedroom as soon as he walked in the house which immediately led me to the bathroom to hurl.  And hurl what?  Because eating is no longer pleasurable.  And I LOVE to eat. Think of allllllllll the things you enjoy to taste  – pancakes, popcorn, birthday cake, greenbean casserole, deli sandwiches, buttered corn, orange juice, white chocolate… all of your favorite delicious mouth watering flavors – gone, just like that – because your taste buds are whacked.  Sometimes my body would trick me, craving an Arby’s roast beef sandwich so uncontrollably that I would mistakenly think I could handle eating an actual meal.  Once attempted, reality would quickly set in and within a matter of bites I would find myself back to the porcelain queen.  Oh and when I took those chances, it was plasticware for the win, because any touch of the tongue to an actual piece of silverware would flood my mouth with the most horrible taste of chemicals.  Really?  Was that necessary? I’m shaking my head at the times I forgot this small detail and couldn’t get that taste out of my mouth for hours.

Mentally and physically, the toll was being taken.  And what’s worse than feeling like crap on the inside?  Looking like it on the outside.  Dark circles, skin hanging on bones, and let’s not forget TOTAL hair loss.  I would wake up to hair that didn’t get up with me, but rather stayed on my pillow and I would lose more with each shampoo. Wigs and hats helped but you still look “sick”.  Not sure if you caught that word “total” loss, but my thick curly locks were just the beginning… I didn’t even have an eyebrow to boast of.  After recently losing all my female birthing organs, the hair loss seemed to strip whatever identity as a woman I had left.  I felt more like an alien.

A zillion other meds are given to curb the chemo side effects – all with ridiculous side effects of their own.

For the nausea (which is nonstop 24/7 torture) I was given a number of meds that could at times make things worse instead of better.  On a good (or good as it gets) day I mustered up enough energy to get out of bed – I was bound and determined to sweep the kitchen floor if it was the only thing I did all day.  But meds had other plans for me.  As I looked down at the floor to direct the broom, my head began to pull back against my own will.  The more I looked down, even using both hands to hold my head in place, the harder it jerked back stretching my neck until my chin actually pointed behind me.  In a matter of minutes it was no longer just my head but everything above my neck.  My eyes rolled back to the point of pain and even my tongue was forced into the roof of my mouth as if trying to swallow itself.  It was as if my body had a mind of it’s own. I was alone, freaking out, crying, deforming, with no way to even look straight in front of me making it painfully difficult to even dial a phone number for help.  I was scared and thoroughly confused, praying to God I wasn’t having a seizure and about to die.

After a trip to the emergency room it turned out that a simple little pill of compazine I had taken earlier for nausea was the culprit for this particular “side effect surprise”.  The fix?  More meds, and more side effects.

But I have to say that even with the hysterectomy, hair loss, weight loss, throwing up, bedridden days, and internal destruction going on, the nonstop needle poking alone would have been hell enough.

Proverbs 17:22

A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit dries up the bones…

Positive is good.  It’s like the Word says – it’s the kind of “medicine” that is actually GOOD for you.  But all this earthly medicine was wearing me thin, literally.

I was positive.  Until one day, when I wasn’t.  I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I had been living in utter pain like I’d never known and stayed faith-filled and positive for as long as I could.  I felt trapped in darkness. I had no energy.  I’d had ONE outing – to the movies a block away, and was miserable the entire time, not to mention completely spent by the time I got back home.  Sunlight was rare in my days.  I couldn’t eat.  I couldn’t sleep.  I couldn’t go to work.  I couldn’t be around people.  I couldn’t go anywhere without puking from the smells.  There was no laughter, no easy button, noone who could really relate or truly understand how I felt, no breather, no break, and no baby. I was done.

It was time to call mom.

“I hate cancer, I hate chemo, I hate life – I don’t want to live anymore – not like this.  THIS IS NOT LIVING!!!  I’m DONE.  I wish God would please just take me home, I can’t do it anymore mom, I just can’t.  I’m sick, I’m tired, I don’t have any strength left.  It hurts. It hurts so bad all the time — I don’t wanna’ do this anymore.  Please I just can’t! I hate this, I hate it, I hate it!!!”

I went on and on, bawling my eyes out.  After a long while of listening to me, momma finally spoke.  And it was not what I was expecting.  She didn’t console me with soft words.  Instead she got right to the point.  She told me to pray.

UGH.  The last thing I felt like doing.  Thanks.

My mom is a warrior.  She’s a survivor of life in general, that’s how she rolls, and has been since I was born.  On that phone call she was in tears and hurting too, because she was far away and couldn’t be right there with me in my dark hour.  And since she couldn’t be there to help me through it, she did the best thing a mom could do for her daughter – she taught me how to get through it by myself.

I learned a precious lesson of survival that day:

Forget about yourself, help others.

“I want you to do something for me right now,” she said.  “ I want you to get off this phone and go get on your knees and pray… for someone else.  And when you’re done praying for that person, I want you to pray for someone else.  And then someone else.  And then someone else, and keep praying for one person after the next as God puts them on your mind until you run out of faces and names to pray for.”

Seriously?  Did she hear me?  I said I wanted to die, not pray.  I’m not gonna’ lie.  At the time, I was pissed.

I got off the phone thinking of all the other things I thought she might say and disappointed that she didn’t succumb to showering me with pity in my self loathing.  But what the heck, I had run out of tears, there was noone around and nothing else to do.  So I prayed.  For someone else.  And then someone else.  Names kept coming  and coming and I just kept praying and praying until eventually I forgot about my own pain.  My dark hour turned instead to a sweet, intimate time with God, sharing with him one prayer offering after another for the sufferings of not myself, but others. When I finally got up, it had been over an hour but it seemed like mere minutes, and my own sadness had been lifted, somehow released.

…. Pray for one another, that YOU may be healed.  ~ James 5:16

Galatians 6 tells us to bear one another’s burdens…  And I wonder if might be easier to do so because when we focus only on our own junk, however heavy it may all be, we lose sight of hope and thereby add unnecessary weight to our own problems.  Mom wasn’t going to add weight to my burden by reaffirming my own despair to me.  Instead of pity, in her wisdom, she equipped me with what I needed to survive…. and taught me the healing power of bearing the burdens of others.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, submit your requests to God, and the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. ~ Philippians 4:6

Prayer pulled me out of the hell I was in – every one of those days I was in pain, stripped of life and identity, desperate- and brought me to a place of peace. Prayer does that for me still. : )

My Cancer Story Part 3: FAITH

Death beds can be a rudely desperate place.

It’s almost impossible to explain.  Disappointment consumes your thoughts… your body, heart, and mind all become very, very still.  Time stretches long from minutes to hours to days; your mind that used to race like crazy becomes vacant and quiet…  plans stop altogether, and all the colors around you fade to gray.  You feel out of place, everywhere.  Even though you may be looking around and talking, altogether physically alive and breathing, everything in you feels slow and life-less.  It’s not just a skimming emotion of sadness.  It’s downright empty.

And in that place, given the very slightest chance, the dimmest ray of hope, you figure out whether or not deep down you have the will to live.  Because you certainly have nothing to lose.

James 5: 16-17

Is any one of you sick? (*raises hand)

He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well…

Papa gave me stern instructions to read the bible like a little instruction book to get me through.

But this?

Um… awkward.

I wasn’t excited.  I wasn’t strong.  I was weak.

But here’s the thing:  This was my life. Even if it hadn’t hit me fully yet, the statistics as well as the eyes of my loved ones made it crystal clear that death was not just a possibility, it was most likely.

Every day we make dozens of decisions:

Dress or capris tomorrow?  Pay this bill or that one?  Chili’s or Mexican? This job or follow my dream? Ethanol or not?  Get up at 5am and work out or indulge & sleep in until 7:30 and barely clock in on time?

At every turn, each choice is connected to the next one, and the next, until all of our little choices ultimately determine the very direction of our lives’ destination.  But this choice was altogether backwards. This wasn’t about what to wear or where to eat.

It’s not a small thing to be at the crossroads of life and death. You don’t choose lightly.  I wanted to live.  Awkward, or anything else for that matter, was not going to keep me from it.  The destination was set… now I had to make all the little choices connect to get there.

Little choice #1: doing exactly what James 5 said.

While still in the hospital, I called my family in to pray.  With faith.  And faith was stressed in that moment big time – because according to the words I read, faith was the clincher.  There was no room whatsoever for doubt.   NONE.

As my family surrounded me and spoke their prayers, I could feel life… I could sense the very faith being spoken aloud in their words doing something deep in me… and the most amazing peace, like a blanket, just came over me… and then, just like that, it was done.  In my heart, I surrendered to one thing – Faith.  I was all in.  And I made the choice to believe with everything in me that God had already answered my prayers for healing.

Now it was simply a matter of seeing the confirmation of it come to pass.  But only AFTER getting through this unwelcome journey that was being force fed right into my face, and bulldozing aside my previously scheduled life.   A journey indeed… to hell apparently.

And, hopefully, back.