The End of This Trail...

It is so hard to believe that I'm pretty much at the the end of my cancer journey. I got my final treatment last Thursday. I have other appointments. I will get a heart scan and then see my oncologist in early December. I'll make regular trips to the treatment center to get my port flushed until they finally decide to remove it. I guess that will be the true end of it all.

I'll keep the port for a while, just in case a new problem arises. Lord willing, that won't be an issue. But better safe than sorry. I'll have a second mammogram on the breast that had the tumor some time early next year. I'll see my doctors regularly for the next year or so, then, assuming nothing new pops up, I'll be done with the cancer.

Of course, I'll never be truly rid of it. I'll spend the rest of my life feeling a bit like Damocles, always aware that there is a sword dangling overhead that could potentially drop at any moment. The difference, of course, is that unlike Damocles, I cannot simply choose to return to my carefree life. No cancer survivor can. Gosh, that sounds morbid, but I don't mean for it to. I'm simply pointing out that a cancer diagnosis is always life altering. Once that diagnosis is made, things change forever. Or they do for most of us. Because even if the cancer itself never returns, there are other consequences of having beaten the disease. Like the damage that can be done by the treatments that might not show up until years later. It becomes something of a waiting game, always wondering if that sword is going to come crashing down one day when you least expect it.

The point, I suppose, is that we have to keep going forward in spite of the danger we might face down the road. I can't just sit here and wait for the cancer to return or for my heart to fail or for any other frightening, unexpected, life-altering event. I have to live. I have to accept that things are different and always will be. I have to reject the part of me that is afraid of what might happen. It would be easy to live in fear. But I refuse to do it. Oh, I worry more now about little things. I mean, anything that "feels" wrong is enough to make me debate whether I need to talk to the doctor about it. Usually, I do. Because it would just be stupid not to. But I do not and will not let those concerns rule me.

God has given me freedom from the urge to worry or be afraid. To reject that freedom would be to reject Him. I won't be foolish, ignoring possible problems, but neither will I let fears of what might (or might not) happen at some point in the future ruin today. I had cancer. It will take years - a decade - of not seeing it return before doctors will give me the title of "Cancer Free." That's a long way off. And those words don't really mean anything in the grand scheme of things anyway. Because cancer doesn't operate on anyone's timetable. No matter how many times doctors and insurance companies tell us that we're not at the age where we need to worry about it, there will still be women like me who get a diagnosis in their thirties - or even younger. There will be women like my mother-in-law who get diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor that is generally considered a "man's cancer."  There will be people who beat it and go for decades before it suddenly rears it's ugly head once more. There will be children who barely begin to live before this damned disease takes their lives. And if it isn't cancer, then it will be something else. Life just can't be planned out like a business conference.

It is up to each of us to decide how we will live. Are we going to go through life with a massive chip on our shoulders, just daring God to knock it off? Or will we trust that He is always in control? That everything we experience, even the tragic, painful, or terrible things, are part of a grander plan that we cannot begin to see or understand? That's the belief I choose. I cannot fathom how anyone could do otherwise. Life is not easy. As the cliche says, no one ever promised it would be a bed of roses. And even if they had, roses have thorns. It is our responsibility to grow and learn from every experience. Our responsibility to understand that the world does not revolve around us. We don't have to understand everything. We don't have to have the answers to every single question. We just have to keep moving forward, keep growing and learning and trusting. And if we can do that, I think most of us will find that life comes with much more laughter and love than tears and pain. Because peace doesn't come from a lack of tribulation and storms, it comes from knowing that there is always a safe place in the heart of those storms. As one of my favorite expressions says, "God doesn't always quiet the storm, sometimes He quiets His child." Jesus said, "peace, be still" to the wind and waves, but He said it to us, too. Sometimes we just have to obey and let the waves and wind rage on around us.

My, How Time Flies...

It's almost over. There is one treatment left to go. There will still be a few more months of cancer related tests and appointments, of course. And the port will have to be flushed every six weeks until they decide to remove it. But after the first week in November, my cancer treatment will officially be over.

Looking back, it hardly seems possible that it has been more than a year since that moment when my doctor got that worried look on her face while doing my breast exam. It also seems hard to believe that that moment was truly the worst one of the whole journey. That instant when the whole world seemed to stop and my stomach dipped uneasily as I realized she'd found something she didn't like. That single split second when my mind leapt forward to the idea of cancer.

I know we're all different. From our individual personalities to our faith - or lack thereof - to our specific cancers and the treatments they require. Compared to so many others, I think I got off easy. I did not need a mastectomy. The cancer, while aggressive, was confined to that single tumor, making a lumpectomy the best option. My chemo was potent, but relatively short in duration. (Only 4 treatments of the worst stuff compared to others who've needed far more.) Eight total chemo treatments and six or so weeks of radiation just seemed to fly by.

When I look back, it's actually kind of hard to remember just how difficult it was. The pain could be intense at times. And the radiation left me feeling like a severely overcooked slab of meat, complete with blisters and peeling skin. There is still soreness. My breast varies from being mildly sore like an overworked muscle to being so sensitive that washing it in the shower is uncomfortable. It feels different than the other one. And while the Herceptin that I've been getting for the past year carries only one real side effect, it's a serious one. Potential heart failure at any point down the road. So that's something we'll have to keep an eye on. But all in all, I still count myself as having been profoundly blessed. Because I know I had it easy.

I think that's one of biggest keys to getting through the treatment. We have to keep in mind that it could always, ALWAYS,  be so much worse. Worse for me would be if it were someone other than myself. Because one of the things I have realized is that I find it profoundly easier to be the patient than to be the caregiver. Not because I dislike caring for others, but because it absolutely breaks my heart to see those I love in pain. I'm a fixer, I guess. Sadly, cancer isn't something that can be hugged or loved away.  Plus, I have no fear at all of dying. Losing those I love, however, is something I abhor.

Caring for and loving a cancer patient was infinitely more difficult for me than actually being the patient myself. Seeing what cancer did to my sister and mother-in-law hurt me in ways my own cancer couldn't begin to. I would gladly take on every illness of those I love just to keep them from having to go through it.

Which brings up another issue. My darling hubby has been diagnosed with type II diabetes. I have suspected it for a while and could kick myself for not forcing him to get tested sooner. It took his eyesight going haywire for him to finally admit something was wrong. Sure enough, his A1C test revealed that, at least for the past few months, his blood glucose levels have been hovering somewhere around 300! No wonder his eyesight went crazy. Funny thing is, it actually got better. A lot better. He's been on diabetes medication for about a month now and his eyesight is returning to normal, though it is still not back to where it was before.

He's a good patient, once he's actually convinced that there's a problem. He watches what he eats and was testing all the time until he got a handle on how certain foods effect his levels. I don't know if he's where he ultimately needs to be with his medication dosage, but he's come a long way from the high 200s and low 300s he was testing at in the beginning.

Ultimately, I see this as just another thing to be thankful for. Because God saw fit to give him a symptom he couldn't ignore. Because he's now being treated and is losing weight to boot. (Now, if I could just do the same. [sigh])  I'm almost finished with my treatment, he's easing into a new job, and life is incredibly good. I wake up every day thinking about how blessed we are.

So, I suggest that anyone out there who is struggling to find the good in their cancer battle might want to simply be thankful that it is them in the battle instead of their spouse, parents, siblings, or children. That's what I am most thankful for.

It's Baaack... (Not the cancer!)

You know, I've gotten a lot of comments since my diagnosis about how wonderful my attitude was. Several folks along the way have commented on how awesome it was that I was not only able to maintain my sense of humor, but to also use it frequently in relation to the many varied issues that come up with cancer treatment. (I make no claims to be a comedian, but I have seen quite a few people crack up at my response to some of the things that have come along.) Apparently, one of my most popular sentiments relating to cancer is a t-shirt I designed on Zazzle that says, "I beat cancer and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!" "One more MRI and I'll stick to the fridge!" has also been popular. Then, of course, there was the infamous "lint roller" trick to dealing with those last stubborn head hairs that just didn't want to let go. I can't take credit for the original idea. It was actually a trick someone on the Cancer Survivors Network mentioned. Still, if using a sticky tape lint roller on one's head isn't utterly absurd, then I just don't know what is.

Anyway, a lot of people seemed to be impressed by my attitude. Frankly, it came solely from my utter trust that God was in control. I mean, what's the point in getting all worked up over something that we cannot do anything about? It's cancer. Throwing a temper tantrum won't do a single thing to help it. Being furious that it came knocking at your door won't do anything but make you and everyone around you miserable. Cancer (along with countless other illnesses and troublesome issues that come up in our daily lives) is no one's "fault." Being mad about it just makes it harder to deal with. Plus, if you believe much of the current data, a good, "positive" attitude actually helps us heal faster. My point? It wasn't really so much me having a positive attitude as it was me flat out trusting God.

I should interject here that my faith and trust did not just wipe out all my natural concern about the situation and about what the future holds. I mean, I'm human. The moment my Dr. got that frown on her face while doing my breast exam and started focusing on that one spot sent a shock wave through me that I will never forget. We all dread hearing that word. CANCER. It's one of the major health terrors of the past several generations. But, I can honestly say I never panicked. I can't ever really remember even "breaking down." There were a few (and I stress few) tears, just moments when the enormity of the situation kind of overwhelmed me. Ultimately though, I just sat back and let God lead the journey. I was on the path and there was no point trying to find a shortcut, a trail off the the path, or balking like a stubborn donkey and forcing God to drag me forward. It simply was what it was and forward was the only way through it.

Yikes! This is not where I planned to go with this post! Funny how that happens.

I did my best to find the humor in all the absurd situations a cancer patient can find themselves in. It is my nature to seek out humor and to use it to help me cope with difficult situations. I just can't help myself. Then again, I can't help but notice that God has seen fit to place me into a LOT of situations throughout my life that, even if they weren't at all funny at the time, would wind up being some of the most hilarious moments of my life when I look back.

Case in point: And I mention this because it just came up a few days ago in response to something posted on Facebook by one of my favorite comedians, Chonda Pierce. Here's what she posted:

Thank you for all the prayers for David. He is healing nicely....the Dr said one half inch further and he would have lost his leg. Here's the call I will never forget, "Hi Hon, I was out in the boat with my chainsaw and had a pretty bad accident." He is now grounded from using power tools for the rest of his life!!

Yeah, I have absolutely NO idea what her husband was doing on a boat with a chainsaw. I mean, try as I might, I simply cannot come up with a reasonable scenario where this would make any kind of sense. But then, as I replied to her, I also have a husband who has not been gifted with what I consider to be a "normal" measure of common sense.  While my darling husband has never had any serious mishaps with power tools, he does have a rather dubious history with fire. I should point out that he grew up in a home with a wood stove. He ought to be more than capable of grasping not only how one works, but the utter lunacy of, say, throwing kerosene into one that is already lit!

Have I mentioned that my husband is a genius? Literally. He was tested in school. He has an understanding of and appreciation for mathematics and physics that I will never, ever be able to match. And I'm no slouch in the intelligence department, either. Yet, though he is perfectly capable of grasping the finer points of the inner workings of space and time and things like singularities and string theory, he cannot seem to wrap his brain around the fact that one does not need highly flammable fluids like kerosene, gas, or lighter fluid to start a fire.

So, many years ago, (before I'd fully grasped his utter incapability when it came to fire) we were living in a home we rented. We had bought a wood stove from his parents when they decided to switch from wood to oil heat. Our rental home had a large living room and large kitchen that shared a good sized open doorway. There was a location just inside the kitchen area that was meant to hold a wood stove. We did use kerosene heaters to heat the house when it wasn't too cold, but once winter set in fully, we switched to the wood.

Anyone who's ever had a wood stove will be aware that they generally have two settings. Hotter than lava and off. We literally had times when that thing would be going that we'd open the front door - in the dead of an Indiana winter - to try to cool the house off a bit. (I'm smiling now as I look back on this. We laugh all the time about the joys of having a wood stove. Despite the sometimes tedious difficulty of regulating the temperature, there is just nothing quite as warm and comfortable as wood heat.)

I did not grow up with a wood stove, per se. We did have a fireplace, however, and somewhere along the way my brilliant mother decided to purchase an insert for it. This was, essentially, a wood stove that was designed to fit into the space of the fireplace. It was sealed up like a wood stove, meaning it had gaskets around the doors and a damper and various air vents to regulate the air flow and thus the rate of burn. It also had a nifty blower system that forced the hot air from the cavity around the insert out into the room. Now we lived in Mississippi, not exactly known for it's frigid winters, but that wood stove saved my parents a lot of money on the utility bill in the winter. And it was how and where I learned how to build a fire using novel things like newspaper and kindling. (No kerosene or gas.) The wood stove my husband and I had was merely a significantly larger version of that fireplace insert. I started it regularly with no difficulty at all.

Another feature of wood stoves is that, so long as they are sealed up nicely, you can bank them at night when you go to bed and there will still be plenty of coals waiting for you the next morning. Generally, all you have to do is rake those coals a bit to get them a little air, then toss some smaller logs on them so that it starts burning actively again, then you can fill that puppy up with some big hunks of wood to keep it going for hours. This is all contingent upon making sure there's plenty of wood in the stove the night before, however, and on making sure you almost completely close all the vents so that it doesn't get too much air and burn too fast. Make that mistake and you wake up to a cold stove that has to be completely re-lit. Apparently, that's what happened one cold morning.

We had a water bed at the time. We were too cheap to buy one of those fancy dresser drawer stands for it, so had the base that consisted of nothing more than a simple frame to support the bed. This meant the bed was fairly low to the floor. Which was fine. We were both a lot younger then and had no trouble getting in or out of the thing. I shudder to think what that would be like these days! So, Hubby gets up before me. I don't even remember him getting out of bed. My first memory that morning was coming slowly awake and frowning as an odd smell hit my nose. While I was sniffing, trying to figure out what it was, I heard his voice right beside my head. He was calling my name in a soft voice, gently waking me. I opened my eyes to find him kneeling beside the bed, his face mere inches from mine. His first words when my eyes opened? "Honey, do I still have any eyebrows?"

Yeah, that was right about the time that my sleepy brain kicked into gear and figured out what that smell was. Burnt hair. (You need to realize that my husband is one of those truly hairy men. He had a full beard in something like eighth grade and has only shaved that beard off completely like once in the more than 2 decades that we've known each other.) Needless to say, his words brought me fully awake. He did still have eyebrows, though all his facial hair was a bit singed. It seems that he'd gotten up to find the stove too cold to fire up by just tossing wood into it. So, in his profoundly brilliant and logical mind, he came up with the notion of pouring kerosene on the wood before putting it into the stove to light. It lit just fine, then promptly went right back out as soon as all the kerosene burned off the surface of the wood. Apparently, his next logical leap was to determine that it must have been getting too much air, making it burn too fast. If he could just repeat the procedure with the door shut, then it would burn slower and thus actually catch the wood on fire. The problem, of course, was how to actually start the fire with the door closed. Clearly this is a logistical problem. So he put some kerosene into a mason jar he'd taken from the kitchen. He poured some of it over the wood INSIDE the stove, put a bit more kerosene in the jar, then got himself ready. He first tossed a match into the stove, which lit the kerosene. Then he took the jar of kerosene and flung its contents into the stove with the intention of slamming the door closed right behind it.

I wish I could convey my expression via these typewritten words. This all happened somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty years ago and I am still torn between the desire to laugh myself senseless and to smack him with the nearest heavy object. Needless to say, his plan did not work. Though he has a complete understanding of the laws of thermodynamics, he was incapable of applying those in any practical way, it seems. Because the result of his "plan" was a massive fireball that came shooting out the door he was, of course, kneeling right in front of while trying to slam it shut. He said he was quite sure it shot well into the living room. Fortunately the only flammable thing in its path was him. (Excuse me for a moment while I pause to laugh again.)

Okay, I'm back. He was unharmed by this stunt. His hair, while singed, was not truly burned and returned to normal quite quickly. I did, however, have to get up and start the stove, since all his kerosene had burned off again and there was still no actual fire in the stove. This was the first moment I realized that fire and my genius husband did not mix. There have been other incidents through the years. The most serious being the "brush fire" he started on a windy day on the hillside down below our barn, in a place where our water hose would not reach. I wanted to call the fire department right off the bat but he insisted he had it under control. The milk jug he was running back and forth between the fire and the end of the water hose would work just fine. (Head shaking at the memory.) I watched him for a few minutes, then decided when the fire hit the first cedar tree and sent flames forty or so feet into the hair that it was time to dial 911. I was halfway to the house when I heard him yell for me to call the fire department. They came and put it out pretty quickly, before it could reach our house and just about the same time that it jumped the road below us and tried to spread into the valley. (Funny as this story is to look back on, it wasn't at all funny at the time and would not have been even remotely amusing if it had indeed spread into the valley below our home. People live there. Lives could have been lost and property certainly would have been because there are no such things as fire hydrants out here. They had to use a tanker truck. They would have had nowhere near enough water to douse a fire that big. Thank You, Lord, for sparing us all that disaster!)

My beloved husband, whom I adore with all my heart, put the blame for that fire on me! He and his brother-in-law, who'd taken part in the starting of the blaze, stood there with the firemen after they'd put it out and explained how they'd told me and his sister that it was too windy to start a fire but that we'd insisted. He was being facetious, but my husband's sarcasm is often difficult for others to grasp. I have always doubted that the firemen realized he was making a joke. Anyway, for a few years after that, we were recognized around town as "the people who'd had the fire on the ridge." Literally, we would walk into the local grocery store and while checking out, the cashier would say, "Oh, you're the people who had that fire out on the ridge." Ah, life in a small town.

Suffice it to say, that was the day we instigated new rules in our family. Hubby is no longer allowed to start any fires unless he's under my direct supervision. He has been flatly forbidden from ever, under any circumstances, using flammable liquids like gas, kerosene, or lighter fluid to start any fires. There have been a few instances, however, when he has ignored these rules. Or at the very least, skirted them. This series of shots was taken last year on an outing to a state park.

We had the dogs with us, so I did not realize what he was doing because I was taking pictures of them. Then I turned around and the first image is what I saw. The charcoal had already been lit, but wasn't going fast enough for him. Of course I felt I ought to snap a picture of it, seeing as it might be the last good shot I would get of my husband. I was yelling at him to put the lighter fluid down as I took the shot, though. You can see in the second shot that he wisely backed away from the conflagration, ever mindful of the singed facial hair of his past. And that look on his face in the last shot is his typical reaction to being caught doing something he knows very well that he should not be doing. Even as I was shooting the pictures, I was reminding him of his history with fire. God bless him, he just doesn't ever learn.

So, maybe a good part of my sense of humor is a result of my husband's sense of humor. We do laugh at and with each other quite a bit. I mean, it is a common occurrence for us to laugh so hard we get tears in our eyes. Often those laughs are due to something absurd one of us has done or said. Long story short: God blessed us by giving us both senses of humor that the other appreciates for the most part. I do so wish God would just see fit to gift my husband with a bit of wisdom when it comes to fire, though. Barring that, I simply pray that God will continue to protect him from his own idiocy. Lord knows I love that man to death.

Sigh. (Now I'm feeling all sappy and love struck.) There's a reason or the wild swings in emotion, though.

Getting chemotherapy has a lot of effects on the body. One of the major ones for a woman is that it sends us into medically induced menopause. That means we get all the joys of hot flashes and such for the duration of treatment. Those hot flashes were brutal. I lost track of how many times I literally thought I was going to up and melt. But, hey, it came with some up sides, too. Primarily, no menstrual cycles.

Not to get too graphic, but my menstrual cycles have never been what I'd call normal. They started kinda late and hit with a vengeance that literally had me wishing I would just die. I can remember being in what I can only describe as agony. Laying in the middle of my bed in a fetal position, praying it would just stop. I remember being at school once when I was in so much pain that any touch on my body, even on my arm, hurt. My mother, whom I flat out adored and respected, did not grasp just how bad it was. She was of the "if you aren't running a fever and/or throwing up, you aren't sick" mindset and so I went to school in spite of the pain. You've got to understand that this was before the days of the internet where we could research something on a whim. And frankly, she was from the country and the notion was that women have been having menstrual cycles since the dawn of time and they got through it just fine. I do remember more than one person making the joke that if I thought menstrual cramps were bad, then I'd never make it through child birth.

All joking aside, I quite literally cannot imagine labor pains being much worse. I don't blame my mother for not taking it seriously. I don't remember how seriously I complained about it. I know for a fact that it wasn't something I'd ever mentioned to a doctor. I just remember that it was a nightmare. An unpredictable nightmare, since it didn't come on any sort of schedule or remotely reliable cycle. Anyway, I was 18 when I started taking birth control pills. I had no idea at that time that the pills could and would impact my periods. I was beyond pleasantly surprised when I found that they not only became regular, but that the pain not only became easily manageable, but often didn't manifest at all. It was years later that I learned, either from a doctor or from my own research on the internet that the hormones in birth control pills were designed to regulate the hormones within our bodies that trigger menstrual cycles. Not only that, but the pills were often prescribed specifically to help women with cycles like mine. Who knew?

So I stayed on the pill continuously from the time I was 18 until last year when I was diagnosed with breast cancer at 39. It was last fall when my oncologist told me I had to not only stop taking the pill but that I would never be able to take it again. I don't mind telling you that I hated hearing that. But, the consequences of that fact weren't of immediate concern. The chemo brought on temporary menopause, which in turn meant no periods. For months now, when doctors asked me when I had my last period, I've been telling them October of 2010.

I saw my OB/GYN in June and we talked about when and if my periods would come back. I was very encouraged when she told me that it could easily be months or even years. Possibly maybe never. I was desperately hoping it would be never. Because without the pill, I feared I would be facing the agony I remembered from my teen years. She said that it wouldn't necessarily be so. But even if it was, there were things besides hormones like the pill that we could do. Still, I really hoped it wouldn't be an issue.

Then, day before yesterday, I got the gift of my period for the first time in 9 months. In all seriousness, it scares me more than the cancer did. I know that sounds insane, but it's the truth. I just cannot stress how horrible my periods were before I started taking the pill. And it's not like I feel comfortable telling everyone who asks how I'm doing that I'm fine, except for the cramps. LOL

I got up and went to church yesterday morning, but then came home after Sunday school because I could feel the pain getting worse in spite of the ibuprofen I'd started taking the day before. It didn't get too bad. As I told my hubby when he asked me how I was feeling that evening, "I'm not wishing I was dead, yet." So that's something to be grateful for. They're worse, today, though. Still nothing like what I remember, but I can't help worrying that they'll get there eventually. If not this month, then the next time, or the time after that. I did research about it yesterday when I got home from church and learned that doctors recommend taking ibuprofen or Aleve or the like before the pain starts and on a regular schedule for a few days whether there's real pain or not. I've been doing that since Saturday afternoon.

It's crazy to be more afraid of menstrual cramps than cancer. It's crazy for any child of God to be afraid of anything. But somewhere deep inside me there is a teenage girl who remembers being curled up on her bed, crying and praying for the pain to stop. Lord, help me, I don't know if I can take it again. So, while I would never realistically wish to go through chemo again, I do miss the benefit I got of not having to worry about a monthly agony.

In the long run, my menstrual cycle is no different than the cancer. It's beyond my control. I can't stop it or fix it or wish it away. If the pain gets just as bad or even worse than what I remember, there's not one thing I can do to change it. I'll seek a doctor's help if that turns out to be the case, but it will be up to God alone whether that doctor's suggestions have any impact. The thing about the cancer is, it didn't really hurt. Oh, there was pain here and there, days of discomfort, difficulties like hair loss and nausea and that nasty taste in my mouth. There was the exhaustion and the hot flashes, the difficulty concentrating. But somehow, it never truly scared me. Maybe because I saw it all as temporary. It would come and it would go. The treatment would work or it wouldn't. Either way, I wasn't in true pain. This, however, is different. I not only hurt, I potentially might hurt A LOT. And I could very well be facing years of hurting badly on a monthly basis.

Funny how some things scare us more than others. (There's my utterly irrational fear of spiders as a prime example, but we'll just leave that for another day.) While I am a bit of whiner, and I certainly do not enjoy pain, I do in reality have a fairly high tolerance for it. Or perhaps it's better described as a resignation to enduring it when there's simply no other choice. Still, I am praying for God's mercy and intervention in this situation. If I'm on the cusp or revisiting the terrible pain of my adolescence, then I pray God will help me endure it with grace. Lord knows I'll need Him. I need Him every moment of every day.

And now, I'm going to go lay down for a little while. Maybe I'll drag out the heating pad, since the stuff I read yesterday said it can help. The ibuprofen isn't working as well today. But laying down will give me a chance to get ahead on my bible reading. (I'm still doing the 90 days through the bible thing.) I have been not only staying caught up on my reading, but I frequently read ahead, sometimes even a full day ahead. It just gets kind of hard to stop right in the middle of the story, even when I know how the story's going to end. :)

See, there's always an upside. Always something positive to be found if we will just look hard enough!

Day One...

Well, today was day one in our efforts to read through the Bible in 90 days. Our reading was Genesis chapters 1-11 and Job chapters 1-5. Following our SOAP formula, I'm supposed to pick out a verse that stood out or spoke to me. There were a couple of them.

First, Genesis 1:1 always gets me. "In the beginning, God..." There is just so much power and meaning in those four little words. They are the foundation of the entire Bible, the basis of all our faith. In the beginning, God: was, existed, created the entire universe, saw the time when His own Son would become the sacrifice for the sins of the whole world, saw me, knew me, and loved me. He was the Alpha and the Omega even before the beginning! It makes logical sense for the Bible to begin with the account of the creation of the world, but more than that, I think there's even greater meaning to why the Bible begins with those first four words. Because without "In the beginning, God..." nothing else matters at all.

I just love those words. I love the incredible promise contained within them. Praise the Lord that God was there even before the beginning!

The other verse that caught my attention was Job 1:22: "In all this Job did not sin or charge God with wrong." For the sake of clarification, here is the "this" verse 22 refers to:

Now there was a day when his sons and daughters were eating and drinking wine in their oldest brother's house, and there came a messenger to Job and said, "The oxen were plowing and the donkeys feeding beside them, and the Sabeans fell upon them and took them and struck down the servants with the edge of the sword, and I alone have escaped to tell you." While he was yet speaking, there came another and said, "The fire of God fell from heaven and burned up the sheep and the servants and consumed them, and I alone have escaped to tell you." While he was yet speaking, there came another and said, "The Chaldeans formed three groups and made a raid on the camels and took them and struck down the servants with the edge of the sword, and I alone have escaped to tell you." While he was yet speaking, there came another and said, "Your sons and daughters were eating and drinking wine in their oldest brother's house, and behold, a great wind came across the wilderness and struck the four corners of the house, and it fell upon the young people, and they are dead, and I alone have escaped to tell you." Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped. And he said, "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord. Job 1:13-21 (ESV)

So, Job lost all his livestock and all his children on the same day, one report of bad news coming right on the heels of the last one and what did he do? He grieved, certainly. He tore his clothes and shaved his head in agony. But then he fell on the ground and worshiped God! He didn't get mad at God. He didn't blame God. He didn't stomp his feet and shout to the heavens, demanding to know why so much grief had been poured over him. He simply worshiped God. He immediately recognized and vocalized the truth that God is the source of all our blessings and it is in His hands how long we are allowed to keep them. Though the words are not said here, I can only believe that Job knew and believed with all his heart that "for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28 (ESV)

I wish I could say I've had that kind of trust and faith all my life. I haven't. I spent a lot of years after the death of my mother being miffed that God had taken her from me. I wanted to know why. And even after I finally found peace with that, I have had moments when I again found myself questioning God's wisdom and reasoning. Losing people we love is never easy. Even when we know they've made professions of salvation, when we believe they are gone to be in the presence of the Lord, letting go is always painful for us. The years have taught me to trust God, to rely on His strength to carry me through the hard times. Still, though I have learned to trust Him, I don't know that I could be as devoted as Job was if I lost as much as he did.

All of us who have been Christians for a while know Job's story. We know it got even worse after this, but that he remained faithful through it all, and that in the end, his faithfulness was greatly rewarded. There are all kinds of lessons to be learned from Job, which is precisely why God chose to include his story in the Bible. But I wonder how many of us really try to put ourselves in his place? How many of us take the time to try to imagine how overwhelming his grief must have been. I'm not a mother. I can't conceive of what it would be like to lose a child. But I have friends who have lost children. I know that no matter how many years pass, they still grieve for that child. No matter how many other children they have, there is always a place that cannot be filled. So imagine not losing one child, but losing 10 at one time. All your children just... gone. I imagine the loss of his livestock - which was substantial - didn't hold a candle to the loss of his children.

Now, try to imagine how you would react. Do you think you would praise God? Do you think you could? Could you utter the words, "blessed be the name of the Lord?" Or do you think you'd get stuck thinking about how unfair it was? Do you think you'd wind up looking at God and demanding that He explain just why He would allow you to suffer such intense pain?

Lord, I pray that you would give me strength and courage. That you would shore up my trust in You and erase any doubts that might still linger. Fill me with Your grace and wisdom so that I can face whatever comes with peace in my heart and praises for You on my lips. Amen.

A quick update about my health. I had another heart scan done on Tuesday, July 19. I went this morning to see my oncologist and get the results. My heart function had risen from 51% to 56%. It was at 61% when they did my baseline before I started chemo last year. So I'm on the way back up, which is very good news since it means I can continue to get my herceptin treatments. If all continues to go well, I'll finish them up some time in November. I'm more than half way there! I got my treatment today, so I've got 3 weeks until the next one.

God is so GOOD!!!

One Year Later...

It has been a year since my OB/GYN found the lump in my breast during a routine breast exam while I was in for my annual gynecological exam. Actually, it was a year on June 16th, but I went back for this year's exam today, June 20th. I don't mind saying that I was kinda holding my breath while she did my breast exam. I mean, I check myself regularly now. I didn't before the diagnosis, which leads me to see this as just one more time in my life (among countless others) when God showed me grace and protected me from my own idiocy.

Ladies,

DO MONTHLY BREAST SELF-EXAMS!!!!!

Anyway, despite the fact that I do my own exams regularly these days, I was still a bit concerned that she might find something I hadn't. I mean, she's the one who found the last lump. It was an irrational fear, I know, but I felt it none-the-less. I should let you know how much I love my OB/GYN. I've been going to her for years and years now. When I first found her, I lived quite a bit closer to where her office is located. These days it takes me closer to an hour to get there, since we've moved in the intervening years. But I don't mind the trip. Not for her. She is a master at making you feel comfortable and at ease in spite of what's going on. We always chat like we're sitting at a cafe table instead of with me naked as the day I was born with my legs up in stirrups. LOL  So while she was doing my breast exam we just chatted as usual. She was very thorough this time and I appreciated that. Not that she isn't always thorough, but she took a bit of extra time today. And praise God, she didn't find anything at all out of the ordinary. There was one funny moment when she felt my port beneath my skin and got a worried look on her face for just an instant before she realized what it was. We were both laughing about that.

We spent some time talking about my treatment, how it had gone and what I still had left to do. We talked about my not being able to take birth control pills ever again. This is an issue that has kind of confused both Mark and me since I was first told it by my Oncologist last year some time. My cancer was not hormone receptive. Most breast cancers are. So we kept trying to figure out why I had to avoid taking hormones of any kind since my cancer was negative for progesterone and estrogen. She said she'd heard it explained thus: If you think of breast cancer as a weed, then the hormones act kind of like a fertilizer. Since I have shown the ability to grow cancer, the last thing we'd want to do is "feed" my cells something that the cancer likes to eat. What a simple explanation!

Needless to say, I walked out of the office feeling a lot better this year than I did last year. The next big date will be my mammogram. That's coming up next month. It'll be my first since shortly before I got my official diagnosis last year. I've been x-rayed and scanned half to death plenty of times in the past year, but the mammogram is a big deal. One of my favorite sayings I've seen since I started my treatment is, "One more MRI and I'll stick to the fridge." I also like, "Any more radiation and I'll glow in the dark." There's also, "My oncologist does my hair." I put all these on t-shirts in my Zazzle store. There's a lot more than that, but these are some of the ones that still crack me up when I see them today.

So, what's happening a year later? What have I learned? Honestly, I don't know that I necessarily learned anything, other than the obvious experience of having gone through all the treatment. I went into it knowing I was going to need God to get me through it. And I have to say that He did. By His grace, I came through it all with flying colors. I don't know that I learned anything, per se, but I do know that I recognized a lot of things. I have spent this entire journey marveling at how much God has blessed me. Every step of the way, He supplied my needs, as He has promised us He would. But He went further and gave me so much more than just what I needed.

He didn't merely provide Mark with a job that would supply us with insurance. He gave Mark a job with the best insurance we have ever had, bar none. And this job also started out as a day shift job, working a schedule that allowed Mark to be off 2-3 days each week so that he'd be able to not only take me to my treatments, but be home on the first day or so afterward to take care of me. God didn't just supply me with treatment options, He blessed me with the option to get all my care at a location that was less than half an hour from home. He didn't just allow the medications I took to fight my cancer, He allowed me to take those medicines without enduring anything close to the worst of their possible side effects. God didn't just give me a husband who does his responsibility of providing for my physical needs, but He gave me a husband who loves me more than any other person on earth. One who made incredible sacrifices without complaint or reluctance. The list could go on and on and on.

I've recently taken part in an online conversation with a young man who in an atheist. He, like so many others, wanted us to explain to him, intellectually, how we came to believe in God. How we know God is real despite the fact that we have no proof. I wasn't the only one who responded that we do have proof. Aside from the fact that the Bible says that Creation itself is evidence of God's existence, I know God is real because I have seen the evidence of His hand touching my life. Oh, I know that atheists would call it coincidence or good luck or fate or a whole host of other things. But I know God is there. I have felt His touch on my life, heard His whisper in my ear, and witnessed His grace more times than I can count. There's a song that has been sung by many artists. I learned it courtesy of The Florida Boys. It's called, "My God Is Real."

There are some things I may not know, there are some places I can't go, but I am sure of this one thing, my God is real for I can feel Him in my soul.

My God is real, He's real in my soul, my God is real for He has washed and made me whole, His love for me is like pure gold. My God is real for I can feel Him in my soul.

I cannot tell just how I felt when Jesus washed my sins away, but since that day yes since that hour, God has been real for I can feel His holy power.

My God is real, He's real in my soul, my God is real for He has washed and made me whole, His love for me, is like pure gold. My God is real for I can feel Him in my soul.

Here's a video of them singing it, if you're interested:

As I recently told the young atheist, we can't provide him with scientific proof of God. For us, we believe God is real by faith, but countless experiences every day of our lives also confirm our faith. We see God everywhere, in everything. I know I certainly do.

And so, a year into living life as a woman with breast cancer, what I can say I have learned is that God is still real. He is still on the throne. Nothing happens by chance or luck or fate. Everything is part of His grand plan and He is never, ever far from our sides. I am so grateful for what He has given me. For His infinite love and patience and blessing, even when I don't deserve it. My God is real. And He's indescribably great!

The Mysterious, Incredible, Undeniable Hand of God...

I have been a Christian for a long time. I was in my early teens when I got saved and I just turned 40 - you can do the math if you want. In the years since I gave my lift to Christ, I have grown in knowledge and understanding, gaining wisdom that only comes with time and a willingness to admit you need to be taught. Gosh, that sounds kinda arrogant! Let me make myself perfectly clear. I'm not saying I have all the answers, or even a lot of them. Sometimes I wonder if I know anything at all. But I think that's a good place for a Christian to be.

"Be not wise in thine own eyes: fear the LORD, and depart from evil." Proverbs 3:7 (KJV)

 In Matthew 18, Jesus talks about being humble like a child. While it might be debatable about just how humble most children are today, the fact remains that small children are trusting like no adult. They rely on their parents for everything from food to shelter to love and everything in between. And they do so without hesitation or question. This is what I have come to believe God wants from all of His children. Simple trust that He is always in control, that He loves us, and that He will never, ever do anything that isn't in our best interest. And this is the heart of the wisdom I have gained since my salvation all those years ago.

While I had little understanding or recognition of it at the time, God was planning and working and calling me long before I answered Him. God's like that, you see. He uses all sorts of people, events, and things to catch our attention or to guide us to where He wants us to be. It can be hard to see His hand at work when we are in the middle of all the action. You know that whole "forest for the trees" thing. And it is doubly difficult for a soon to be or new Christian to recognize the evidence of our Lord at work. Newbies or those on the verge of giving in to God rarely have any discernment at all. We just drift along, perhaps feeling the tug of an unseen current, but generally unaware of how or why it is there or where it is taking us. I am profoundly grateful that God has seen fit to let my eyes be opened in regards to this. These days I see His hand everywhere!

There are times when I am practically bursting with joy and thankfulness as I see evidence of Him around me. Sometimes it is just the mere beauty of a day, or the touch of my husband's hand on mine, or the melody or words of a song that come at precisely the moment I need them. Sometimes it's that still, small voice whispering within that gives me some desperately needed bit of guidance, understanding, or comfort. And sometimes it is the odd congruence of multiple events that most would consider coincidence but that I cannot help but attribute to the Creator of the universe. See, I don't believe in luck. I don't much believe in coincidence. I don't subscribe to the eastern philosophy of Karma or fate, but I believe with every fiber of my being that God has a grand plan for every soul on Earth and that He is constantly working in every single life to bring that plan to completion.

All this has led me to be very sensitive to God's movement in my life. I see Him everywhere and in everything. From the song that plays on the radio to the emails friends send me to the random websites that pop up when I'm doing some kind of web search. Sure, there are plenty of things out there that have less to do with God than with this world or even the devil as he tries to lure me away, but so often I see God working in everyday moments.

One of them came today. I got up and picked up my computer to glance through my email. One of my very best friends (and a woman I respect more than she will every know) had forwarded an email to me. I get quite a few things from her, sometimes funny, sometimes touching, sometimes thought provoking, always welcome.

In case there's any doubt, I'm talking about you, Carolyn.

Carolyn is an artist whose work can be found on Etsy, & Craftsu. You can see images of just a small sample of her work on both Flickr and Picasa. She makes "how to" videos of all sorts and video collages of her work which she posts on YouTube. And she has two blogs here at Blogger as well. Carolyn's Canvas is where she shares her crafts, the inspiration behind them, and little bits and pieces of day to day life. The Alabaster Box is where she shares the countless ways God has influenced and touched her life and the way she praises and glorifies Him in return.

If you take the time to read or view much of her stuff, you will quickly find out that she has a rapier wit and a servant's heart. I love both of those parts of her equally. We are never together that we don't laugh repeatedly. Joy and humor are big parts of what get me through my darkest hours but that's another post!

Carolyn sends me emails which she forwards from other friends and family quite often. This morning she sent me one containing a story that I'm fairly sure I've read before. I'll reprint it here so you can share it's message, which is a very good one.

The Refiner's Touch There was a group of women in a Bible study on the book of Malachi.  As they were studying chapter three they came across verse three which says, "He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver." This verse puzzled the women and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God. One of the women offered to find out about the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible study. That week the woman called up a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn't mention anything about the reason for her interest in silver beyond her curiosity about the process of refining silver. As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that, in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest so as to burn away all the impurities. The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot - then she thought again about the verse, that He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver. She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined. The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. For if the silver was left even a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed. The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, "How do you know when the silver is fully refined?"  He smiled at her and answered, "Oh, that's the easy part -- when I see my image reflected in it." If today you are feeling the heat of the fire, remember that God has His eye on you and will keep His hand on you and watch over you until He sees His image in you. Pass this on right now. This very moment, someone needs to know that God is watching over them, and that whatever they're going through, they'll are NOT ALONE, and will be a better person in the end.

 The version I received had a quote at the end that was incomplete. I decided to try to look up the story online to see what the rest of that quote was. I found the above version of the story on a site called The Clarion Call. It did not include the quote I was looking for, so I did a different search for it and found it elsewhere.

"Life is a coin. You can spend it anyway you wish, but you can only spend it once."
— Lillian Dickson

 Now, I started out looking for a quote. (I do this kind of thing ALL the time, often with similar results.) At the end of the above story on The Clarion Call was an addendum which follows.

NOTE FROM KAY:  I verified that the information in this story was true.  I contacted a silversmith at www.silversmithing.com and asked if there were any untruths in the silver-smithing parts.

I received the following response from Fred Zweig:  "I am familiar with the verse from Malachi.  The similarities of actual refining and the chapter and verse from the Bible are accurate.  It is important not to overheat the silver when refined in this process and clean molten silver will shine with a mirror-like quality when it is ready to pour.  The high temperatures do volatize the impurities and form on the surface as dross.  It is important to be attentive to the molten metal as it does it no good to overheat it.  It may not destroy the silver, but silver has an affinity for absorbing oxygen and this can make it unworkable."

Being the wildly curious person that I am, I wondered just who Kay was. So I backed out to the home page of The Clarion Call to find out. It turns out she is Kay Meyerett, the creator of the site. I have hardly had a chance to do more than a cursory glance at the site, as it is quite extensive but two things caught my eye right off the bat.

First: At the end of the home menu page I linked to earlier, I read this, "I do know one thing for sure and that is that God brought you here. That must mean there is something here for you!" I am a firm believer in just such things. God leads us where He wants us to go so that we can learn new things about Him or ourselves that can then be used in our spiritual and/or physical lives. I appreciated knowing Kay saw His hand at work as much as I did.

Second: A little further down the page, right before the links that would take one to the various articles, studies, stories, poems, and other things on the site was this:

WARNING!!
You need to know how to determine what is true and what is not true about the things of God.  Here's how to:
Determine the Truth of the Matter

My, how I love seeing someone point out the necessity of discernment! So few seem to have it these days. I followed the link and started reading and quickly came across:

~~~~ THIS IS IMPORTANT! ~~~~
THIS IS HOW TO DETERMINE THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER!

Don't believe anything you read here at the Clarion Call.  Don't believe anything you hear at church.  Don't believe anything you hear coming out of any human's mouth!

I am still grinning like a nut even after reading this several times just because I feel a wild rush of appreciation for anyone willing to lay it out so plainly in black and white. She goes on to explain the importance of letting God teach you what is true and what is not. The need of studying and learning the Bible for yourself so that you will be able to recognize the truth when you see it. And the utter necessity of learning to set aside your own sense of logic, fairness, and any and all preconceived notions to allow God to guide you into the understanding needed to be useful to Him.

I don't know Kay. I've just stumbled across her website in what many would consider a matter of happenstance. I read her bio, have not had a chance to read any of her Bible studies, but feel a kinship with her all the same because of the little I have read. I will read more. And in spite of the fact that I like what I've read so far, I will not take anything I read at face value. I will weigh it against the Bible and the whisper of the Holy Spirit within me to determine if it is of use. I will take what is and leave what isn't. But I get the feeling that the useful will outweigh the useless. Because like she said, God brought me there.

And that's what makes me laugh out loud to myself sometimes, and sing at the top of my lungs, and wave my hands to heaven. Because God is there, in the big miracles we see every day, like the whole of creation and the life of Christ, and the person healed of some disease. But He's also there in the moments between the great miracles. In the odd tension in the pit of our stomach that tells us to slow down when we aren't even driving the speed limit so that we can avoid hitting a child that will dart out into the road in front of us only moments later. In the countless little things that pop up to keep us from getting around to going to the store or on a visit or somewhere else where we might have encountered something harmful. In the peace that floods us when we are moments away from a spiritual, emotional, or physical breakdown. In the joy that leads us to praise God when we have every right according to the world and our own human nature to curse Him. And in the seemingly random congruence of a series of events that leads us to a person, place, or even a website were we will find fresh understanding of God.

I'm not posting this to praise Kay Meyerett. Like I said, I don't know her. I could read some of her Bible studies and decide that she's a nut or just plain wrong. But even if all I get from her site is a reminder that God is in control of every moment, every event, every instant of my life, then that's enough.

I pray that everyone else can see God's hand in their life as well. I pray He will reveal Himself to you in a profound way. And I pray that He will continue to reveal Himself to me so that I will never forget how great and wonderful He is.

For Mama...

It's Mother's Day again. I've been facing it without my own mother for 23 years now. Believe me when I say it really never seems to stop being a day of both pain and joy. Because of this, I thought I'd do a post about my precious mother.

She was born Jennie Carolyn Bulliner on December 6, 1938. The family she was born into was already a bit complicated. Her mama, Wyonia, had been married to Orland Miller and had one son with him. James Lee Miller was born deaf. Then my grandmother divorced Orland Miller and married Linus Bulliner. They had two children together. My mother and her sister, Sandra. Then Mamaw divorced Linus Bulliner and remarried Orland Miller. (This is the man I grew up knowing as my grandfather. Papaw Miller.) They then had another child, Carl, known to everyone as Smittie. Mamaw would stay married to Papaw Miller until his death.

My mother was the one chosen to attend "deaf" school with her older brother. She taught everyone else how to sign. She was very close to him. She used to tell me that she looked up to him a lot. So much so that once when she was a young girl, she was following him around and he decided to jump over a mud puddle. She was younger and smaller, but like most younger siblings, decided she could do it, too. She tried to leap over the puddle but didn't make it and landed right in the middle of it. Unfortunately, someone had been breaking glass in the hole. She was barefoot when she landed. Glass was driven up into one of her feet. When she told the story she used to say she could still remember the sound of her brother screaming as he carried her back to the house. I don't remember exactly what was done. She did see a doctor but all the glass apparently wasn't removed because she said years later a piece of it actually worked its way out the top of her foot. She had the scar to prove it.

I can remember being a child and my mom teaching me how to use sign language to tell Uncle James Lee that supper was ready and that I loved him. He always seemed to find it cute when I'd come trotting up and sign something. Here's a shot of our whole family at one of our annual Christmas dinners held at my grandmother's house.

That's me in the very center, looking up at my cousin, Allen. Uncle James Lee is immediately to my right. My mother is right behind me. This is most of the family, minus my sisters and their families. My uncle Smittie is the last one on the right. My Aunt Sandra is the second woman on the left. (The one in front with the long dark hair is Uncle Smittie's wife, Rethel.) I won't even try to list the names and locations of all the cousins. LOL

I think this shot just might have been taken on the same day of another shot of my mother and me.

Gosh, I can't get over how beautiful she was! I've just realized that these two shots were made on the same day. I cropped this one to just show her face and have been using it as my profile pic on facebook in honor of my mother. As an aside, I'm fairly sure she made that dress for me.

Anyway, Mama was raised in rural Tennessee. She got married young and gave birth to two daughters, Connie Lynn and Debra Kay. She used to joke that when she had her first child - Debbie - she panicked because she was a girl. Mama had pretty much raised my Uncle Smittie so she knew all about baby boys. She said she wasn't sure what to do with a baby girl. LOL. Good thing she figured it out, because girls was all she had!

My sisters' father was James C. Smith. I never really knew him until after my mother's death, at which point he welcomed me into his family with open arms and started telling everyone I was his other daughter. God Bless him. He's gone home to be with the Lord, now.

I'm not sure how old my sisters were when Mama and James divorced. Young enough to still be small kids, I think. Mama was working at some factory when she met my father, David Maynard. He used to say that he wanted to marry her the first time he saw her. You'd have to know my father to understand how he managed to completely sweep my mother off her feet. She was a country girl. born and raised in the back end of nowhere. Daddy used to say that when he met her, she'd never actually been to a "sit-down" restaurant where the waitress came to the table and served you. While Mama was what I'd affectionately call a country bumpkin, my daddy was a city boy through and through. He was a charmer on par with the best car salesman. When he decided he wanted my mama, he just pulled out all the stops and went and got her. They got married and eventually had me.

My sisters were several years older than me. Debbie was 15 when I was born and Connie was 13. My Daddy used to tell me that I was not a mistake. He said he and Mama planned for me. I wouldn't have cared if I had been a mistake, though. I knew I was loved dearly and that's all that matters.

When I was born, we lived in a house in a suburb of Memphis. It was, in fact, in Mississippi. Southaven to be exact. I can remember quite a bit about that house and living there. Like the fact that I used to stand in the hallway and yell because there was a bit of an echo that I found endlessly entertaining. I seriously doubt Mama found that nearly as fun as I did. LOL

I can remember Mama putting me down in her bed one night during a storm. I remember her singing to me as I lay there with the lightening flashing outside. I can remember Mama helping me search for a tooth I lost in the living room floor because she'd gotten me all dressed up for something and I'd slipped and fallen thanks to my patent leather shoes and the hardwood floors. (Had to have that tooth for the tooth fairy, you know!) I can remember Mama's fondness for using bricks set at an odd slant to line her flowerbeds. I remember being furious with her because I came home from school (pre-school? first-grade? not sure) to find that she'd sold my tricycle at the yard sale she was having. I was too big for it, but I still played with it, mostly by standing on the back foot rest and pushing it around like some kind of scooter. I remember that we had a pet rabbit in a hutch out in the back yard and I went out there and stuck my finger through the wire and the stupid thing bit me. I can remember it bleeding like crazy and that it hurt really bad, too. I remember one night while Mama, Daddy and I were sitting down at dinner that the house started shaking. Daddy grabbed me up and headed for the bathroom but it was all over before we even got there. I remember standing with Mama and Daddy at the front door looking outside while they discussed that it had been a tremor. I had no idea what a tremor was, but I thought it must have been some kind of really big truck or machine because it had made the house shake when it drove past. I clearly remember looking down the road to see if I could catch a glimpse of it. LOL

Daddy used to tell a story of one time when he was stripping the paint off the front porch. He said I was a toddler. Somehow I managed to get the front door open and I stepped out onto the porch wearing nothing but my diaper. Whatever he was using, it was caustic. He said I started screaming and Mama came running. He said we both fell in the mess and that he remembered us being in the bathtub with Mama still in whatever clothes she was wearing and me in my diaper crying while they rushed to try to wash the chemical off of both of us.

I remember having a lot of ear aches when I was little. I can remember lying on the couch with my head in Mama's lap while she put ear drops in my ears. I remember countless times when she would sit up with me while I was sick. I can still remember the smell of Vicks since she rubbed it all over my chest every time I started coughing. LOL I remember fainting once when I was in my early teens. I was in the kitchen at the table and was rocking back on the back legs of my chair when I just went out like a light. I guess I fell backwards and hit my head on the bar. Mama snatched me up and was carrying me upstairs when I woke up. I was no small thing at the time. But my size didn't mean a thing to her as she rushed to lay me down and make sure I was okay.

And this is a big part of who she was. She was, without a doubt, the most caring person I have ever known. She would sacrifice anything for her kids. She would go to any length for us, fight any battle. Her love was unconditional and didn't waver. She taught me what love was supposed to be. No matter what, you don't quit, you don't ever turn your back on someone you love.

I watched her endure a lot in her lifetime. I watched her deal with a failing marriage to my father. I watched her take care of her own mother, being there for everything from family deaths to canning crops. Lord, did my grandmother like to can! Probably a product of surviving the depression. I have no idea how many hours we spent at my grandparents' place picking all manner of crops or plums from an ancient old tree. Mama did her fair share of canning, too. Plum jelly is still my favorite to this day.

My mama was just an incredibly precious person. I'm not trying to say she was perfect. None of us are. But I cannot imagine having a better mother. We did all the wonderful things mothers and daughters ought to do together. We baked cookies regularly. She read to me constantly until I was old enough to read for myself. We would sit up late on summer nights watching old reruns of Rawhide and The Rat Patrol on TV while munching on a bowl of popcorn.

When my parents marriage started falling apart and my father eventually moved out, my mother wound up working 3 jobs to make ends meet. She did it all without complaint. Yet she still somehow managed to find a way to be there for me whenever I would sing in a concert or anything else she felt I needed to be supported at.

Looking back, I can't help but be profoundly grateful for everything I know she did for me. I'm thankful that I never went though that rebellious stage so many daughters seem to hit in their teens. I stayed close to my mother through it all. I adored her and considered her my very best friend, though there was never, ever any doubt that she was my mother first and my friend second. I had fun with her. I never wished she'd go away. I never dreaded seeing her coming. I'd have rather spent my time with her than most anyone else I knew.

I was 17 when she died. It was sudden, with no warning at all. She got sick with what we all thought was just a cold. I found her collapsed on the bathroom floor on a Saturday morning. She was dead Tuesday night. Viral Pneumonia. No one should die from that. Especially a 50 year old woman in the prime of her life. It killed her because she didn't seek medical treatment for her sickness. She didn't seek treatment because she didn't want to spend the money. Oh, how I wish she'd made a different choice!

Losing my mother devastated me. It still haunts me 22 years later. I don't think I will ever fully get over it. By the grace of God, I have learned to live with the loss, to go on in spite of the depression that overtook me after her death. Still, I miss her with a fierceness that is sometimes more than I can bear. To this day I can remember one thing with a clarity that is nothing short of profound. The feel of her hands. I don't know why, but they are etched into my memory like a carving in stone. The texture of her skin, the feel of it when I would hold her hand or when she would touch my face. I pray that I never lose this memory.

There are other things that are less distinct. She liked White Shoulders. She had old powder boxes that still smelled like it. In those days, powder boxes were actually plastic. I remember she kept my barrettes in one and buttons in another. A few years ago I was in Wal-Mart just before Christmas when they have all the gift sets of makeup or perfume or bath products set up for the holiday. I noticed a White Shoulders gift set and picked it up to smell it. I can still remember tears flooding to my eyes right there in the middle of the aisle. It brought her back so strongly!

I have gone on with my life. None of us has any other choice when someone we care for dies. When my sister, Connie, lost her battle with lung cancer in 2001, I can remember standing in the funeral home picturing the reunion that must have taken place between her and our mother. I can just see Mama there, waiting eagerly for her middle daughter. I can see her throwing her arms wide in welcome and saying, "There's my baby!" And I can see the two of them embracing with tears of pure joy on both their faces. I'm not eager for death, but I look forward to the day when it will be my turn to run into her arms once more. Mama told me once when I was probably twelve or so that I would always be her baby. It didn't matter how old I got or how big, I would always be her baby and she would love me come what may.

I know none of us can fully understand the scope of God's love for us. It is something beyond our feeble ability to comprehend. It is the very definition of unconditional. It transcends all else, reaching a beauty and profundity that we can only dream of achieving in our own fallen lives. But I also believe that a mother's love is the closest any of us will ever get to the love of God. My mother gave me everything I could have ever wanted or needed. She taught me how to love, not with words, but through her own example.

I've said before that she didn't know how to stop loving someone. She was planning to divorce my father when she died. We never told him that. He died himself 3 years after Mama from complications of pulmonary fibrosis, which is scarring of the lungs. I tell people when it comes up that if my mother had not died, I know exactly what would have happened. Even if she'd gone through with the divorce, she would have taken care of my father when he got sick. She would have moved him back into our house and cared for him until the day he died. It was her nature. No matter how much someone angered or hurt you, if you loved them you never turned your back on them when they needed you.

Mama was hardly perfect. She had her flaws. My sisters could probably attest to plenty of mistakes she made while raising them. Fortunately for me, by the time I came along she'd worked out most of the kinks of parenthood. I had it easy, to hear them tell about it. And I probably did. Mama was a lot more relaxed the third time around. Plus, I was the baby of the family and so got coddled by everyone, even my sisters. I was spoiled, but not to the point that I lost all respect. I was just loved thoroughly. And I was a profoundly happy child because of it.

This is one of my favorite pics of my mom. She was so young and just looks so sassy!

 

 

Mama with me. She was so obsessed with getting that little curl on top of my head! Of course, with all the hair she had going on I reckon she didn't want me to feel left out. LOL

Taken at a family reunion, I think. That's my grandmother on the left end. Then my father, Mama, me, my brother-in-law, Dale, nephew Dale, Jr., sister Debbie, sister Connie, and Connie's husband, Henry. This is another of my favorite pics, despite Daddy's hideous pants! (on a side note, I find it hilarious that me and both my sisters are wearing flip-flops. I think Mama's got on sandals, but all of us lived in flip-flops in the summer. When we wore shoes at all. LOL)

I call this the Mother Goose photo. Mama was an avid reader and I inherited that love thanks to her reading to me all the time when I was little. Here she is reading to her grandkids. Dale (oldest), Jessica (youngest at this time), and Adam, who's looking at the book like he thinks it's going to eat him. LOL

Mama and me on a summer night in the park. It was after Music Mania, an annual variety show put on by members of the music and band programs at my school. I was in the show. We'd gone for ice cream and Mark snapped this shot. None of us could have known that in less than a year, Mama would be gone.

This last shot is how I remember Mama most. Happy and smiling. This is what I miss most about Mama being gone. I just wish she could be here to talk to and to laugh with and to hold my hand when I'm sad or afraid. She was my rock on this earth and even as an adult I still feel somewhat adrift without her here. But I know where she is. I know she's with my sister. And I know that God has her wrapped in His great arms.

All of us who are Christian women know of the woman in Proverbs 31.

10  Who can find a virtuous and capable wifeShe is more precious than rubies.11 Her husband can trust her, and she will greatly enrich his life.12 She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.
13 She finds wool and flax and busily spins it.14 She is like a merchant’s ship, bringing her food from afar.15 She gets up before dawn to prepare breakfast for her household and plan the day’s work for her servant girls.
16 She goes to inspect a field and buys it; with her earnings she plants a vineyard.17 She is energetic and strong, a hard worker.18 She makes sure her dealings are profitable; her lamp burns late into the night.
19 Her hands are busy spinning thread, her fingers twisting fiber.20 She extends a helping hand to the poor and opens her arms to the needy.21 She has no fear of winter for her household, for everyone has warm clothes.
22 She makes her own bedspreads. She dresses in fine linen and purple gowns.23 Her husband is well known at the city gates, where he sits with the other civic leaders.24 She makes belted linen garments and sashes to sell to the merchants.
25 She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.26 When she speaks, her words are wise, and she gives instructions with kindness.27 She carefully watches everything in her household and suffers nothing from laziness.
28 Her children stand and bless her. Her husband praises her:29 “There are many virtuous and capable women in the world, but you surpass them all!”
30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last; but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised.31 Reward her for all she has done. Let her deeds publicly declare her praise.

        Prov 31:10-31 (NLT)

"Her children stand and bless her."

I bless my mother. I call her worthy of praise. She was all any woman should be. Faithful. Brave. A hard worker. We had food and clothes for winter because she made sure the pantry was stocked and that we had whatever we needed. She even made clothes for us. She was a true friend to those who had the privilege to call her by that name. She was a mother to every child she met. She was a teacher, fan, supporter, disciplinarian, chauffeur, doctor, whatever she had to be. And I am a vastly better person for having had the privilege of knowing her.

Thank you, Lord, for my mother. As my sister posted on her facebook page today, "Happy Mothers Day Mom! You are missed and loved everyday. I know you are sharing your day with Connie. I know she will share our love with you. She is missed and loved everyday also. We keep you both close to us in our hearts and our memories. I pray that God give you both fields of roses and wildflowers."

Amen.