When cell phones first came out, I had one. I used it for work. It was in a bag the size of a small laptop and was hardwired to my car. The antenna was on the roof. It cost about $600.00. That's hard to believe, isn't it. In the last 20 years of owning mobile phones, I have always adhered to three rules:
Never answer the phone during church (duh)
Never answer the phone in a restaurant
Never answer the phone in a bathroom.
I have never broken rule #1. Even though my phone is on vibrate and in my purse, it will never be answered in God's house.
I have, since my daughter has gotten older with a cell phone of her own, broken rule #2. I have always felt compelled to be there for her, and now that she is away from home, you just never know what your child may need....so no dinner in a restaurant is more important than being there if she needs me.
I had never broken rule # 3 until last Wednesday. Just on principal and dignity alone, who answers the phone when they are on the toilet??? But I did just that, last Wednesday, because the call was from Janet. I had left her a message wanting to know what Maha had thought about the latest ca27/29 number. I wanted to know if we should be doing anything, looking at alternative angles yet, or sticking with the program. I was obsessing and worried....I needed to know what they both thought. So, when the phone rang and I had just sat down, I answered. I almost got away with it, but the reception was bad and when I stood up to walk outside, pants half zipped, still needing to go, the automatic toilet flusher went off like a jet blasting down the runway. "What was that?" asked Janet. So, I had to confess that I had answered the phone in a restroom stall at the Georgia State Welcome Center.
Janet and I had our discussion. I was calmed by her calm and the fact that we are continuing to go forward with our plan. I told her that we were stepping out on faith on this one, this hormone
pill, this break, my summer camp where I am away and God is so with me. The truth is, I feel great. I can do just about anything in moderation and feel better than I have in over two years. So, to know we were not going to abandon this therapy, that the daily small white pill will do for another 30 days at least, I don't regret breaking rule #3
Sometimes you gotta lose a little dignity to gain a little peace. It's a trade I'll make any day.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Meltdown
I have to admit, I had a meltdown. Upon returning from a four-day absence from my house, I am always apprehensive. I never know what state I will find the place in, and considering my daughter had been there over the weekend and my brother-in-law and 6-year old nephew had come in the day before I got back....well, I was expecting the worse. Actually, the condition of the house was okay. I was surprised. But, of course, as I dug a little deeper, I began to unravel.
First, my dogs were not put in the right outdoor area. Two should have been in one yard, and two in another, but all four were together in the smallest yard. That meant they had less shade and less water per dog. It made no sense. Why would my husband deviate from our regular pattern. I called him and asked. "Because that's where I put them," he said. But that's not where they belong, I thought.
Next, the fourth kitchen chair was still out in the garage. I had asked him to brush it off and bring it back inside so we would have a complete set for our company. He forgot, he said.
Duh, I thought. You walked passed it for four days and never saw it?
Lastly, and the cause of the meltdown, was the food. He had grocery shopped. Bought a dozen muffins, three gallons of lemonade, pounds of lunch meat, loaves of bread. It looked like his whole large Cuban-Catholic family was coming for the week. And inside the refrigerator was
all the pasta with sausage and peppers I had cooked for him before I left, untouched and spoiling away five days later, along with five burned to a crisp, hockey-puck hamburgers he must have cooked on his own for his brother and nephew. I couldn't believe he had actually served them.
That was an ugly phone call. "Gee, welcome back," he said. "I can never trust you when I leave this house," I shouted, and I sobbed until he got home.
What was the real meltdown about? Was it really about those hockey-puck hamburgers? No,
of course not. The real reason is, as always so much deeper.
First, one year ago, my wonderful father went in for open heart surgery and never made it out of the hospital. I have missed him terribly ever since Father's Day. I remember making him his last home-cooked meal. I was on my way to his house the night before his surgery and he asked me to stop at, of all places, Taco Bell, and bring he and his wife quesadillas for dinner. I was appalled. I stopped at Food Lion instead and made him some of my own along with a healthy salad. He was having heart surgery, for God's sake. At that moment, I remembered with sadness that he was no longer married to my mother. My mother who never would have allowed fast food in her house. My mother who had cooked a meat and two vegetables and a dessert for my Dad for 42 wonderful years. My mother's legacy of being the ultimate homemaker, the best cook around, was no longer a part of my Dad's life. It was not important to him and wife #2. His second wife didn't care much about cooking and cleaning and keeping house, so he didn't either. (They had a wonderful 6 years together.) But I cared, so I cooked for them at what would be their last meal together at the house on the river, just this time last year.
So when I got home and the dogs weren't right, the chair was still out of place, the groceries were over bought, the pasta wasn't eaten, and there sat the hockey-pucks, all I could think of was how soon things go to hell in a hand-basket when I'm gone. I looked at those burnt hamburgers and thought of my mother and her legacy. How can one's work be forgotten like that. When you face the enemy that is cancer everyday and constantly wonder about the future, the previous statement suddenly carries so much weight, it can smother you. For 24 years, I have worked, kept house a certain way, bought groceries, cooked, made sure the dogs were happy.....all a certain way. It is how my house runs.... it has a heartbeat, a "feel" that I helped create and maintain. Pride in my home when guests are here...how I entertain them...how I cook, lay out the guest towels, turn down the beds just so, buy Katie her favorite crackers.....it is all part of how I do things and I don't want it forgotten. I don't want it all to go to pot in just four days. I want it kept up like I keep it up, now and always....whenever I go away...for fours days or an eternity. If you want to avoid the meltdown, that's easy. Please, honor me, remember me and remember how I keep my home.
First, my dogs were not put in the right outdoor area. Two should have been in one yard, and two in another, but all four were together in the smallest yard. That meant they had less shade and less water per dog. It made no sense. Why would my husband deviate from our regular pattern. I called him and asked. "Because that's where I put them," he said. But that's not where they belong, I thought.
Next, the fourth kitchen chair was still out in the garage. I had asked him to brush it off and bring it back inside so we would have a complete set for our company. He forgot, he said.
Duh, I thought. You walked passed it for four days and never saw it?
Lastly, and the cause of the meltdown, was the food. He had grocery shopped. Bought a dozen muffins, three gallons of lemonade, pounds of lunch meat, loaves of bread. It looked like his whole large Cuban-Catholic family was coming for the week. And inside the refrigerator was
all the pasta with sausage and peppers I had cooked for him before I left, untouched and spoiling away five days later, along with five burned to a crisp, hockey-puck hamburgers he must have cooked on his own for his brother and nephew. I couldn't believe he had actually served them.
That was an ugly phone call. "Gee, welcome back," he said. "I can never trust you when I leave this house," I shouted, and I sobbed until he got home.
What was the real meltdown about? Was it really about those hockey-puck hamburgers? No,
of course not. The real reason is, as always so much deeper.
First, one year ago, my wonderful father went in for open heart surgery and never made it out of the hospital. I have missed him terribly ever since Father's Day. I remember making him his last home-cooked meal. I was on my way to his house the night before his surgery and he asked me to stop at, of all places, Taco Bell, and bring he and his wife quesadillas for dinner. I was appalled. I stopped at Food Lion instead and made him some of my own along with a healthy salad. He was having heart surgery, for God's sake. At that moment, I remembered with sadness that he was no longer married to my mother. My mother who never would have allowed fast food in her house. My mother who had cooked a meat and two vegetables and a dessert for my Dad for 42 wonderful years. My mother's legacy of being the ultimate homemaker, the best cook around, was no longer a part of my Dad's life. It was not important to him and wife #2. His second wife didn't care much about cooking and cleaning and keeping house, so he didn't either. (They had a wonderful 6 years together.) But I cared, so I cooked for them at what would be their last meal together at the house on the river, just this time last year.
So when I got home and the dogs weren't right, the chair was still out of place, the groceries were over bought, the pasta wasn't eaten, and there sat the hockey-pucks, all I could think of was how soon things go to hell in a hand-basket when I'm gone. I looked at those burnt hamburgers and thought of my mother and her legacy. How can one's work be forgotten like that. When you face the enemy that is cancer everyday and constantly wonder about the future, the previous statement suddenly carries so much weight, it can smother you. For 24 years, I have worked, kept house a certain way, bought groceries, cooked, made sure the dogs were happy.....all a certain way. It is how my house runs.... it has a heartbeat, a "feel" that I helped create and maintain. Pride in my home when guests are here...how I entertain them...how I cook, lay out the guest towels, turn down the beds just so, buy Katie her favorite crackers.....it is all part of how I do things and I don't want it forgotten. I don't want it all to go to pot in just four days. I want it kept up like I keep it up, now and always....whenever I go away...for fours days or an eternity. If you want to avoid the meltdown, that's easy. Please, honor me, remember me and remember how I keep my home.
Acts of Faith
Ah yes....acts of faith. We perform so many in our everyday lives. Simple acts. We have faith that when we get up in the morning and hit certain switches that lights will come on, coffee will start brewing and the computer will come alive with access to the cyber-universe. This is the faith of electronics.
We have faith that when we step on the floor from our beds that our two relatively small feet will hold us up, our inner ears will allow us to balance, and we will walk around all day, hearts beating and lungs expanding and brains commanding. This is the faith of our bodies...our wondrous human body.
We have faith that when the people we know and love tell us news or speak of events or weave a story, that their words are real and truthful and meaningful. This is the faith of our relationships.
The car will start, the chicken will be cooked through, my dogs will greet me with tremendous enthusiasm, people will be on time, a tomato plant will bear fruit, petunias bloom in the full sunlight. We all have a certain degree of faith that this things will be true...they will happen.
We have so much faith that we use in ever day life, it really is incredible. The trouble is, we don't view these acts as faith, only as things that we expect, things we take for granted, things that have occurred so often and so repetitively that we KNOW they will happen again.....like the sunrise and the sunset.
So what does it feel like when faith fails us? When the car does not start...when people lie, when the coffee machine is broken....when the chicken is raw in the middle? We are angry, disappointed, disgusted, and at the very least, inconvenienced. So what does it fell like when your spiritual faith fails you??? Absolute confusion? Devastation? Betrayal???
I learned a great lesson all these acts of faith and failures over a very long trip I just made to Orlando Fla. and back. Nothing that went on down there was as I had hoped, as I expected.
The trip was slow and scary.....I drove through and sat through the worst storms I had ever seen...trapping me and my dog in the car for two extra hours. The travel trailer I was staying in
was crammed with so much new stuff (the owner likes stuff) that I could hardly move around in it. It als did not have any of the food she had told me she had brought. We couldn't seem to get ready on time any of the show days. The satellite dish didn't work...no TV. I lost my toothbrush, I lost at the show every single day to a dog who had flown in from Ohio and another from Canada. My show friend had so many people visiting all day long that there was never any time to rest. She also had not kept my pretty little show girl (dog) in the condition I had expected and had been told. By Sunday, I hurt all over and had a ten-hour drive in front of me, with the "check engine" light on, by the way, and was so disgusted, disappointed and inconvenienced....I cannot even tell you. Electronic failures, communication failures, body failures. I'd had 'em all.
But the worst failure I had was a failure of faith. For, while I was in Orlando, I just had to....had to drive to Lakeland, only 60 short minutes away...to the Florida Revival that had started 80 days before and had grown into an Outpouring, a truly remarkable, spiritual gathering of the Lord and His people......so large it had gone to TV broadcasting and had been moved to seven different venues until it was in an airplane hanger, seating 8-10,000 people per night.
Unbelievable....powerful...supernatural stuff. I drove there, alone, praying for discernment,
wanting it to be REAL, ultimately wanting it to be for ME...hoping that my act of going, my act of faith might somehow be rewarded. I had heard the Florida Revival is truly a sight to behold. People are being healed, people are being raised from the dead, God is performing miracles and wonders...I wanted to see it...I wanted to feel it....I wanted it to be my time for the ultimate miracle.
I got there early...waited in line with people from Illinois, New Jersey, New York. There were people from Switzerland, Denmark, and more African countries than I could recognize. The place was electric! We found our seats and the worship music started and people were just swept up in the spirit and the presence and the fire. Everyone was crying out to God, singing, clapping, praising. The sick and crippled and blind were there all around me, waiting....waiting for Todd Bentley to speak, waiting for God's hand.....acting on faith that this was also their time.
For two hours we sang and praised and cheered and sang.......and I felt absolutely nothing. It was like my heart had shut its door. I was not at all moved. At a revival where I had been expected to have been knocked on the floor by the presence of God, I had to double-check to see if He was even in the house. And just before the speaking was to begin.....just before "the good stuff" should have started, I got up, and walked out and drove back Orlando feeling utterly defeated...having what I felt was a huge failure of faith. I saw no miracles, felt very little...I could not understand it.
The rest of my time in Orlando seemed shrouded in a cloud of disappointment. After having a ten-hour drive to mull it over and if you read back in this post as to what I had prayed for on the way to that hanger in Lakeland Fla........what I had PRAYED for, not what I had expected or and hoped for....but what I had prayed for was discernment. The ability to know what is right and true and real for me...discernment. What I thought was a failure of faith was actually God answering my prayer. Despite all that was going on around me at the revival,
it was not the place for me. It was not my time for the ultimate healing experience. I was not supposed to be there. I so wanted it to be......but it was not to be. I prayed to know the difference and I knew. It was not real for me, not going to be a miracle for me.
So my friends, I really pray that all those who were there got what they were going for. I pray that if that Revival is truly the next Great Revival that I will get another chance to go and
feel that it is the real deal. But it was not the time...not this time. Of all the acts of faith that had failed on my trip to Orlando, the big failure turned out to be an answered prayer. I just had to see that amidst all the other let-downs. You just never know.....I have my coffee beside me, this computer works, my body feels good, and I have been divinely educated. My new act of faith is to never doubt the lesson from Orlando...never second guess walking out the door......never forget that God is beside me with all the answers, even when the answer was the last thing I expected to hear.
As a post script to all this, when I opened my devotional to today's date, it was titled "Make Your Miracle Happen." Ah yes.....acts of faith....more so, faith in action. With or without the Florida Revival, I have just as much claim to a miracle as anyone and I will always be His and I have to act on faith....always....even when it means walking out the door.
"and he said to her, Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace and be whole...." Mark 5:34
We have faith that when we step on the floor from our beds that our two relatively small feet will hold us up, our inner ears will allow us to balance, and we will walk around all day, hearts beating and lungs expanding and brains commanding. This is the faith of our bodies...our wondrous human body.
We have faith that when the people we know and love tell us news or speak of events or weave a story, that their words are real and truthful and meaningful. This is the faith of our relationships.
The car will start, the chicken will be cooked through, my dogs will greet me with tremendous enthusiasm, people will be on time, a tomato plant will bear fruit, petunias bloom in the full sunlight. We all have a certain degree of faith that this things will be true...they will happen.
We have so much faith that we use in ever day life, it really is incredible. The trouble is, we don't view these acts as faith, only as things that we expect, things we take for granted, things that have occurred so often and so repetitively that we KNOW they will happen again.....like the sunrise and the sunset.
So what does it feel like when faith fails us? When the car does not start...when people lie, when the coffee machine is broken....when the chicken is raw in the middle? We are angry, disappointed, disgusted, and at the very least, inconvenienced. So what does it fell like when your spiritual faith fails you??? Absolute confusion? Devastation? Betrayal???
I learned a great lesson all these acts of faith and failures over a very long trip I just made to Orlando Fla. and back. Nothing that went on down there was as I had hoped, as I expected.
The trip was slow and scary.....I drove through and sat through the worst storms I had ever seen...trapping me and my dog in the car for two extra hours. The travel trailer I was staying in
was crammed with so much new stuff (the owner likes stuff) that I could hardly move around in it. It als did not have any of the food she had told me she had brought. We couldn't seem to get ready on time any of the show days. The satellite dish didn't work...no TV. I lost my toothbrush, I lost at the show every single day to a dog who had flown in from Ohio and another from Canada. My show friend had so many people visiting all day long that there was never any time to rest. She also had not kept my pretty little show girl (dog) in the condition I had expected and had been told. By Sunday, I hurt all over and had a ten-hour drive in front of me, with the "check engine" light on, by the way, and was so disgusted, disappointed and inconvenienced....I cannot even tell you. Electronic failures, communication failures, body failures. I'd had 'em all.
But the worst failure I had was a failure of faith. For, while I was in Orlando, I just had to....had to drive to Lakeland, only 60 short minutes away...to the Florida Revival that had started 80 days before and had grown into an Outpouring, a truly remarkable, spiritual gathering of the Lord and His people......so large it had gone to TV broadcasting and had been moved to seven different venues until it was in an airplane hanger, seating 8-10,000 people per night.
Unbelievable....powerful...supernatural stuff. I drove there, alone, praying for discernment,
wanting it to be REAL, ultimately wanting it to be for ME...hoping that my act of going, my act of faith might somehow be rewarded. I had heard the Florida Revival is truly a sight to behold. People are being healed, people are being raised from the dead, God is performing miracles and wonders...I wanted to see it...I wanted to feel it....I wanted it to be my time for the ultimate miracle.
I got there early...waited in line with people from Illinois, New Jersey, New York. There were people from Switzerland, Denmark, and more African countries than I could recognize. The place was electric! We found our seats and the worship music started and people were just swept up in the spirit and the presence and the fire. Everyone was crying out to God, singing, clapping, praising. The sick and crippled and blind were there all around me, waiting....waiting for Todd Bentley to speak, waiting for God's hand.....acting on faith that this was also their time.
For two hours we sang and praised and cheered and sang.......and I felt absolutely nothing. It was like my heart had shut its door. I was not at all moved. At a revival where I had been expected to have been knocked on the floor by the presence of God, I had to double-check to see if He was even in the house. And just before the speaking was to begin.....just before "the good stuff" should have started, I got up, and walked out and drove back Orlando feeling utterly defeated...having what I felt was a huge failure of faith. I saw no miracles, felt very little...I could not understand it.
The rest of my time in Orlando seemed shrouded in a cloud of disappointment. After having a ten-hour drive to mull it over and if you read back in this post as to what I had prayed for on the way to that hanger in Lakeland Fla........what I had PRAYED for, not what I had expected or and hoped for....but what I had prayed for was discernment. The ability to know what is right and true and real for me...discernment. What I thought was a failure of faith was actually God answering my prayer. Despite all that was going on around me at the revival,
it was not the place for me. It was not my time for the ultimate healing experience. I was not supposed to be there. I so wanted it to be......but it was not to be. I prayed to know the difference and I knew. It was not real for me, not going to be a miracle for me.
So my friends, I really pray that all those who were there got what they were going for. I pray that if that Revival is truly the next Great Revival that I will get another chance to go and
feel that it is the real deal. But it was not the time...not this time. Of all the acts of faith that had failed on my trip to Orlando, the big failure turned out to be an answered prayer. I just had to see that amidst all the other let-downs. You just never know.....I have my coffee beside me, this computer works, my body feels good, and I have been divinely educated. My new act of faith is to never doubt the lesson from Orlando...never second guess walking out the door......never forget that God is beside me with all the answers, even when the answer was the last thing I expected to hear.
As a post script to all this, when I opened my devotional to today's date, it was titled "Make Your Miracle Happen." Ah yes.....acts of faith....more so, faith in action. With or without the Florida Revival, I have just as much claim to a miracle as anyone and I will always be His and I have to act on faith....always....even when it means walking out the door.
"and he said to her, Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace and be whole...." Mark 5:34
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
What do you say?
What do you say when so much was said during my visit on Monday? Jan was missing, but it was so good to see every one else. "You look great." they said. The had heard about my 5k walk on Saturday, they told me. We talked about dogs and eyelashes and fingernails. Then, more serious stuff like representing the face of chronic breast cancer, having "aha" moments in life and the fact that we are not really sure where we are going with all this.
My physical exam went off without a hitch. Everything normal. I felt so great....I felt so free when I left there. So full of faith and hope
So what do you say when the phone call comes on a sunny day during lunch with your husband and your tumor marker seems to tell you that its all a pack of lies?? The number is up. No matter how great I feel, no matter how inspiring I may be, no matter how much faith I can muster, the marker....the maker or breaker...is creeping back up. The hormonal break may not turn out to be as we had hoped.
Despite the fact that I am still so hopeful. Despite the fact that I still have all the faith in the world in my God and Maha. Despite the fact that I am so much better off than this time last year, that the marker is still lower than it was for most of 2006 and all of 2007, I am so disappointed that the creeping kudzu of my disease is already beginning to worm its way back into the picture. Just when I had tucked it neatly away in my head...in my heart.
What do you say to every one who knows you? What do you write in this space? The truth is,
we really don't know where this is taking us. The truth is, that wherever we go from here, I am not alone, I am not afraid, I am not down-trodden. I am full of faith, and held strong by family, friendship and medical genius. I know we will all work on this with as much intensity and dedication as we always have. I know I will learn to look at this new number (216) with different eyes in a couple of days. I will head off to my dog show in Florida, have fun,
fool everyone around me, push back the creeping vines of a relentless enemy and be all the more stronger for it.
Just please, please forgive me if I don't know what else to say except I wanted a little longer stay at camp.......I needed a little longer break from the worry......and I hate it when I have to call with the update and I don't know what to say to those who love me. For once, I am at a loss for words.
"...hold firmly till the end the confidence we had at first." Hebrews 3:14
My physical exam went off without a hitch. Everything normal. I felt so great....I felt so free when I left there. So full of faith and hope
So what do you say when the phone call comes on a sunny day during lunch with your husband and your tumor marker seems to tell you that its all a pack of lies?? The number is up. No matter how great I feel, no matter how inspiring I may be, no matter how much faith I can muster, the marker....the maker or breaker...is creeping back up. The hormonal break may not turn out to be as we had hoped.
Despite the fact that I am still so hopeful. Despite the fact that I still have all the faith in the world in my God and Maha. Despite the fact that I am so much better off than this time last year, that the marker is still lower than it was for most of 2006 and all of 2007, I am so disappointed that the creeping kudzu of my disease is already beginning to worm its way back into the picture. Just when I had tucked it neatly away in my head...in my heart.
What do you say to every one who knows you? What do you write in this space? The truth is,
we really don't know where this is taking us. The truth is, that wherever we go from here, I am not alone, I am not afraid, I am not down-trodden. I am full of faith, and held strong by family, friendship and medical genius. I know we will all work on this with as much intensity and dedication as we always have. I know I will learn to look at this new number (216) with different eyes in a couple of days. I will head off to my dog show in Florida, have fun,
fool everyone around me, push back the creeping vines of a relentless enemy and be all the more stronger for it.
Just please, please forgive me if I don't know what else to say except I wanted a little longer stay at camp.......I needed a little longer break from the worry......and I hate it when I have to call with the update and I don't know what to say to those who love me. For once, I am at a loss for words.
"...hold firmly till the end the confidence we had at first." Hebrews 3:14
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
22,700
That's how many people turned out for the Race for the Cure this past Saturday. What a great affirmation of the love and support people have for the ones who have been affected by breast cancer. It was truly overwhelming and emotional.
I had gone out to the race site to watch my daughter run the 5k at 9:00. When her running partners fell through, she told me she did not want to run the course alone. Without hesitation, I said, "If you'll walk with me, I'll walk it with you." (5k.....that's 3.2 miles, right?) I didn't even have on the right shoes, but they were close enough. So off we went, my beautiful daughter and I. A sea of people walking in front of us, a sea of people behind us. I had no idea if I could go the distance....I had every hope that I could.
We walked past houses where people sprayed you down with water, had music playing or were just standing on their porches and clapping. We walked past an 87 year old woman in her rocker
who had a 27-year survivor banner hung on her porch. We walked past a couple dancing on their front porch where a huge oak had been adorned with hot pink wooden ribbons. We passed a church handing out cups of water, where every tree had been tied with light pink netting ribbons. We walked past a fellow walker who was pushing his mother in a wheel chair. And everywhere, all along the route, there were people, from babies to grandpas, cheering and clapping. I cannot do the whole scene justice with the written word. Those of you who were there to see it know what I'm talking about. Before I knew it, we were almost home.
What nobody really saw, what was the greatest thing and no one could have possibly guessed the significance of, is that right when Katie and I made the last turn heading to the finish line; right when we could see the tower with the timer, and hear the announcer encouraging us all to the end, my daughter reached out her hand and said "together?" I grabbed her hand and said "together...you better believe it." For a moment, amid the sea of humanity, there was just the two of us, finishing a little journey.....hand in hand, together. I knew then that she knew just how significant a walk this had been. She has no idea of what a special moment that was for me.
I thank God for that moment. It is a snapshot in my head forever. Who'd have thought it?
Walking a 5k in the spring of 2008. It was the best and easiest walk I have ever taken.
"Blessed are those who have learned to acclaim you, who walk in the light of your presence, O Lord." Psalm 89:15
I had gone out to the race site to watch my daughter run the 5k at 9:00. When her running partners fell through, she told me she did not want to run the course alone. Without hesitation, I said, "If you'll walk with me, I'll walk it with you." (5k.....that's 3.2 miles, right?) I didn't even have on the right shoes, but they were close enough. So off we went, my beautiful daughter and I. A sea of people walking in front of us, a sea of people behind us. I had no idea if I could go the distance....I had every hope that I could.
We walked past houses where people sprayed you down with water, had music playing or were just standing on their porches and clapping. We walked past an 87 year old woman in her rocker
who had a 27-year survivor banner hung on her porch. We walked past a couple dancing on their front porch where a huge oak had been adorned with hot pink wooden ribbons. We passed a church handing out cups of water, where every tree had been tied with light pink netting ribbons. We walked past a fellow walker who was pushing his mother in a wheel chair. And everywhere, all along the route, there were people, from babies to grandpas, cheering and clapping. I cannot do the whole scene justice with the written word. Those of you who were there to see it know what I'm talking about. Before I knew it, we were almost home.
What nobody really saw, what was the greatest thing and no one could have possibly guessed the significance of, is that right when Katie and I made the last turn heading to the finish line; right when we could see the tower with the timer, and hear the announcer encouraging us all to the end, my daughter reached out her hand and said "together?" I grabbed her hand and said "together...you better believe it." For a moment, amid the sea of humanity, there was just the two of us, finishing a little journey.....hand in hand, together. I knew then that she knew just how significant a walk this had been. She has no idea of what a special moment that was for me.
I thank God for that moment. It is a snapshot in my head forever. Who'd have thought it?
Walking a 5k in the spring of 2008. It was the best and easiest walk I have ever taken.
"Blessed are those who have learned to acclaim you, who walk in the light of your presence, O Lord." Psalm 89:15
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Letter from "Camp"
Dearest Maha, Janet, and the girls,
I have been having a great time here a Camp Takabrake. It is really swell, although it has been very hot the last couple of days. I thought you all might like to know what I've been doing while I've been away. Camp Takabrake has offered me several opportunities and activities that I have been missing since the last time I was at Camp during the summer of 2005.
Kayaking---you would have been so proud of me. I drove to the lake, got the kayak out of the shed, loaded it in the back of our SUV, launched it at the boat dock, and paddled around for 2 hours. The wildlife was beautiful and the lake was as flat as a pancake. Then I got the kayak back to the lake house shed and drove back home...all by myself. I did not even have to take an extra "Helper pill" that night for pain. I was so proud and knew you would be, too.
Hiking---I have spent some time in the mountains and took various paths along the Blue Ridge
Parkway. Although some of the hills left me a little breathless, they did the same thing to my husband, so I felt proud again. I did not have to stay in the car and just look!
Crafts--I have been wanting to make small prayer cloths for people who need them, so I did. They are very pretty and have a healing scripture on them. I made four and have already given two away. I can't wait to show them to you.
Walking--I get to go to the beach some and every time I am there, I seem to walk for very long stretches. I have made 2 1/2 miles twice! I have also conquered the very long and steep hill on my street.
Landscaping--You would not believe it, but just yesterday evening, I helped spread buckets and buckets of mulch in my yard. I wore gloves and drank plenty of water and sweated like a man,
but it was fun to get out and play in the dirt.
Boating--My family came for a weekend and the lake. We went out on our boat and had lunch out on the water. We played beach music and grilled out and watched the sunset. It was wonderful. And yes, I did drink wine.(hee, hee) I also got a little bit of a suntan, something I could now do without fear of a drug-interaction.
Field Trip--My husband and I took a field trip to Childress Wineries and sat on the large upstairs veranda. having lunch in the shade and listening to a band and enjoying the breeze, the scenery, and yes, the wine.
I have done a bunch of other little things, and even though it sounds like I am bragging about what I've been doing at Camp Takabrake, I'm really not. In reality, I am so humbled by the fact that I have done these things and more. I wanted you all to know how blessed I am to feel my body recovering; to get a good night's sleep; to see my eyelashes and eyebrows again; to have hair on my head again; to not have constant aches and pains and concerns. To giggle with joy at the simplest of things because not only am I away at "camp", but I am alive. I am alive and I am amazed by what God and we have accomplished.
Being away has been fun, but I think of you all, every day. I look forward to seeing you soon on "visitors day" this coming Monday. Until then, the blessings of God be with you all.
Love,
Kathy
I have been having a great time here a Camp Takabrake. It is really swell, although it has been very hot the last couple of days. I thought you all might like to know what I've been doing while I've been away. Camp Takabrake has offered me several opportunities and activities that I have been missing since the last time I was at Camp during the summer of 2005.
Kayaking---you would have been so proud of me. I drove to the lake, got the kayak out of the shed, loaded it in the back of our SUV, launched it at the boat dock, and paddled around for 2 hours. The wildlife was beautiful and the lake was as flat as a pancake. Then I got the kayak back to the lake house shed and drove back home...all by myself. I did not even have to take an extra "Helper pill" that night for pain. I was so proud and knew you would be, too.
Hiking---I have spent some time in the mountains and took various paths along the Blue Ridge
Parkway. Although some of the hills left me a little breathless, they did the same thing to my husband, so I felt proud again. I did not have to stay in the car and just look!
Crafts--I have been wanting to make small prayer cloths for people who need them, so I did. They are very pretty and have a healing scripture on them. I made four and have already given two away. I can't wait to show them to you.
Walking--I get to go to the beach some and every time I am there, I seem to walk for very long stretches. I have made 2 1/2 miles twice! I have also conquered the very long and steep hill on my street.
Landscaping--You would not believe it, but just yesterday evening, I helped spread buckets and buckets of mulch in my yard. I wore gloves and drank plenty of water and sweated like a man,
but it was fun to get out and play in the dirt.
Boating--My family came for a weekend and the lake. We went out on our boat and had lunch out on the water. We played beach music and grilled out and watched the sunset. It was wonderful. And yes, I did drink wine.(hee, hee) I also got a little bit of a suntan, something I could now do without fear of a drug-interaction.
Field Trip--My husband and I took a field trip to Childress Wineries and sat on the large upstairs veranda. having lunch in the shade and listening to a band and enjoying the breeze, the scenery, and yes, the wine.
I have done a bunch of other little things, and even though it sounds like I am bragging about what I've been doing at Camp Takabrake, I'm really not. In reality, I am so humbled by the fact that I have done these things and more. I wanted you all to know how blessed I am to feel my body recovering; to get a good night's sleep; to see my eyelashes and eyebrows again; to have hair on my head again; to not have constant aches and pains and concerns. To giggle with joy at the simplest of things because not only am I away at "camp", but I am alive. I am alive and I am amazed by what God and we have accomplished.
Being away has been fun, but I think of you all, every day. I look forward to seeing you soon on "visitors day" this coming Monday. Until then, the blessings of God be with you all.
Love,
Kathy
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
I had to call
I had to call him. I was riding down the mountain on I-40, coming back from Asheville. I had just spent the night with my husband who was there on business. We had gone to dinner the night before, and I had spent the morning driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway. As close to heaven as you can get in North Carolina. Both of my parents' ashes are up on the Parkway,
spread there as they wished and against park regulations. I am always reminded of my youth when I am on the parkway, because we vacationed there quite often. So on the way back, I had a sudden feeling that I needed to call David.
David is an old friend of mine from way back when. He was my first real boyfriend. We muddled our way through our early and mid-teens together, and then went our seperate ways. Through high-school reunions and the fact that somehow we ended up in the same line of business, he and I have kept in touch on a very casual and infrequent level. My husband has met his wife. We have mutual friends in Wilmington, but we have walked very, very different paths in life.
He anwered the phone on the first ring. He told me he was glad to hear from me; that he didn't have a current phone number and hadn't been able to tell me how sorry he was about my Dad dying last summer. He didn't even know we had moved to Greensboro. We spent a good 20 minutes catching up on each other's spouses and children. Then he wanted to hear about me and my health. He had been concerned that things were not going well and did not know who to ask. He had no idea about the ups and downs of the last two and 1/2 years. I kept it short, but did let him know of my victories and miracles. We hung up and I burst into tears.
Why did I do that? It was not because I missed him, ever had any regrets about the different paths we took, and certainly not because of any "what if" kind of thing. I cried because I knew when he was talking to me on the phone, he was thinking of a different Kathy. Here was a person who knew me, but hadn't seen me in over four years, has never seen me with hair shorter than shoulder-length. He has never seen me overweight, with blotchy skin and non-existant eyebrows. Here was a person who was blissfully ignorant of what the girl on the other end of the line looked like. And I want him to stay that way. When he is talking to me from afar on the phone, I always want him to conjure up the picture of me as a young woman. Long hair,
tanned, bikini-clad, pert-breasted, tennis champ, no-cares girlfriend. Here was someone whose memory of me has not been as marred as everyone else who has watched the toll that
cancer has taken on me and my body.
I am proud that cancer has not altered my soul. I am proud that cancer has brought so much to the rich table that has become my life. I am grateful, so grateful, that this disease has drawn me so close to God, family, friends, and my girls. All these things are priceless and so, so enriching.
But for a short time on a Tuesday while I was driving down the mountain, I just had to call someone....anyone...who remembers me like I remembered me when I used to go up on the Parkway with my parents. Another person...not jaded.
Thankfully, God has a gentle reminder for me when moments like the moment on the 1-40 mountain hit me:
"Forget the former things, do not dwell on the past. See! I am doing a new thing." Isaiah 43:18,19a
spread there as they wished and against park regulations. I am always reminded of my youth when I am on the parkway, because we vacationed there quite often. So on the way back, I had a sudden feeling that I needed to call David.
David is an old friend of mine from way back when. He was my first real boyfriend. We muddled our way through our early and mid-teens together, and then went our seperate ways. Through high-school reunions and the fact that somehow we ended up in the same line of business, he and I have kept in touch on a very casual and infrequent level. My husband has met his wife. We have mutual friends in Wilmington, but we have walked very, very different paths in life.
He anwered the phone on the first ring. He told me he was glad to hear from me; that he didn't have a current phone number and hadn't been able to tell me how sorry he was about my Dad dying last summer. He didn't even know we had moved to Greensboro. We spent a good 20 minutes catching up on each other's spouses and children. Then he wanted to hear about me and my health. He had been concerned that things were not going well and did not know who to ask. He had no idea about the ups and downs of the last two and 1/2 years. I kept it short, but did let him know of my victories and miracles. We hung up and I burst into tears.
Why did I do that? It was not because I missed him, ever had any regrets about the different paths we took, and certainly not because of any "what if" kind of thing. I cried because I knew when he was talking to me on the phone, he was thinking of a different Kathy. Here was a person who knew me, but hadn't seen me in over four years, has never seen me with hair shorter than shoulder-length. He has never seen me overweight, with blotchy skin and non-existant eyebrows. Here was a person who was blissfully ignorant of what the girl on the other end of the line looked like. And I want him to stay that way. When he is talking to me from afar on the phone, I always want him to conjure up the picture of me as a young woman. Long hair,
tanned, bikini-clad, pert-breasted, tennis champ, no-cares girlfriend. Here was someone whose memory of me has not been as marred as everyone else who has watched the toll that
cancer has taken on me and my body.
I am proud that cancer has not altered my soul. I am proud that cancer has brought so much to the rich table that has become my life. I am grateful, so grateful, that this disease has drawn me so close to God, family, friends, and my girls. All these things are priceless and so, so enriching.
But for a short time on a Tuesday while I was driving down the mountain, I just had to call someone....anyone...who remembers me like I remembered me when I used to go up on the Parkway with my parents. Another person...not jaded.
Thankfully, God has a gentle reminder for me when moments like the moment on the 1-40 mountain hit me:
"Forget the former things, do not dwell on the past. See! I am doing a new thing." Isaiah 43:18,19a
The Fire
There has been a dream of mine (nightmare?) that has stayed with me for well over 15 years. I had this very vivid dream back in the spring of 1993. I have probably dreamt and forgotten thousands and thousands of dreams since then, but this one particular split-second picture formed and forged in the back of my brain oh-so long ago has never left me. I lived months, maybe even years without thinking of or remembering the dream and then, for some reason, it would jump forward into my present-day and stay there for weeks.
The dream consists of only one image. It is an image I am viewing from over my left shoulder, looking back. Looking over my shoulder I see a dark, black hill. The sky is also black, but I can see the hill because the ridge line of the hill is lit all the way across with fire. Not a huge, blazing wildfire, but a slow-moving, relentless brush fire. It is coming down the hill and it is coming for me. I have never dreamt of the fire since, but I have tried to figure out its meaning over the years. The memory of it is still as vivid as the night I dreamt it. I came up with several interpretations, but never really knew of its meaning until May 14, 2001 when I woke up to a surgeon who was saying "we have a problem". It was then that I had a name for the fire, really started fearing the fire, started running from the fire. Over the past 7 years I have walked through it, walked from it, and fled in fear of it, but the fire is still there, every time I glance back over my left shoulder. When Janet once described the progression of the type of breast cancer that was advancing inside me, she called it a "slow-burner". I wanted to say, "You're telling me. I've been watching it burn on that hill back there behind me ever since it showed up."
The fire on the hill finally took its meaning eight years after I dreamt it. If I had only known what the fire meant, I would have been better prepared to snuff it out. But, that's not what happened. The fire crept down the hill while I ignored its possible meaning and it continues to pursue me; out of my dream and into reality.
I was thinking of writing about the fire when I was writing about "The Abduction" last month.
The fire on the hill had come back in my mind and I needed to get it behind me for a little while,
maybe purge it through writing. Then someone wrote to me about a huge revival going on down in Lakeland, Fla. A revival that was supposed to be for two weeks in April and has run non-stop
through today with no signs a being over. Amazing things are happening down there. People are describing the place as being on fire.......the fire of the Holy Spirit....Church on Fire...swept by fire. Suddenly on Sunday, when the pastor's wife was talking about what it was like to be standing in Lakeland, Fla. in the middle of the fire, to witness miracles and wonders and feel the most powerful presence of God......suddenly fire did not seem like such a bad thing. I know God
has used fire throughout time for cleansing and for His purpose. I know, because of Matthew
3:11, that Jesus came to "baptize (me) with the Holy Spirit and with fire."
I had to be reminded. Fire can be good. Fire can do amazing things when it comes down in the name of the Lord. And though the fire on the hill has come after me with a slow, determined pace, it has never caught up to me. I have smelled its smoke on several occasions, but I have never been burned. This morning, as I write about the fire, I am no longer feeling the blackness that used to surround it. Instead of looking over my shoulder, I can turn and face it, knowing it could have a divine meaning instead of a dreaded one. Facing fire.....that's what I've been doing since 2001......only now, it has a new meaning. I do not fear it, and it will never haunt me again.
The dream consists of only one image. It is an image I am viewing from over my left shoulder, looking back. Looking over my shoulder I see a dark, black hill. The sky is also black, but I can see the hill because the ridge line of the hill is lit all the way across with fire. Not a huge, blazing wildfire, but a slow-moving, relentless brush fire. It is coming down the hill and it is coming for me. I have never dreamt of the fire since, but I have tried to figure out its meaning over the years. The memory of it is still as vivid as the night I dreamt it. I came up with several interpretations, but never really knew of its meaning until May 14, 2001 when I woke up to a surgeon who was saying "we have a problem". It was then that I had a name for the fire, really started fearing the fire, started running from the fire. Over the past 7 years I have walked through it, walked from it, and fled in fear of it, but the fire is still there, every time I glance back over my left shoulder. When Janet once described the progression of the type of breast cancer that was advancing inside me, she called it a "slow-burner". I wanted to say, "You're telling me. I've been watching it burn on that hill back there behind me ever since it showed up."
The fire on the hill finally took its meaning eight years after I dreamt it. If I had only known what the fire meant, I would have been better prepared to snuff it out. But, that's not what happened. The fire crept down the hill while I ignored its possible meaning and it continues to pursue me; out of my dream and into reality.
I was thinking of writing about the fire when I was writing about "The Abduction" last month.
The fire on the hill had come back in my mind and I needed to get it behind me for a little while,
maybe purge it through writing. Then someone wrote to me about a huge revival going on down in Lakeland, Fla. A revival that was supposed to be for two weeks in April and has run non-stop
through today with no signs a being over. Amazing things are happening down there. People are describing the place as being on fire.......the fire of the Holy Spirit....Church on Fire...swept by fire. Suddenly on Sunday, when the pastor's wife was talking about what it was like to be standing in Lakeland, Fla. in the middle of the fire, to witness miracles and wonders and feel the most powerful presence of God......suddenly fire did not seem like such a bad thing. I know God
has used fire throughout time for cleansing and for His purpose. I know, because of Matthew
3:11, that Jesus came to "baptize (me) with the Holy Spirit and with fire."
I had to be reminded. Fire can be good. Fire can do amazing things when it comes down in the name of the Lord. And though the fire on the hill has come after me with a slow, determined pace, it has never caught up to me. I have smelled its smoke on several occasions, but I have never been burned. This morning, as I write about the fire, I am no longer feeling the blackness that used to surround it. Instead of looking over my shoulder, I can turn and face it, knowing it could have a divine meaning instead of a dreaded one. Facing fire.....that's what I've been doing since 2001......only now, it has a new meaning. I do not fear it, and it will never haunt me again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)