Today is a milestone.
Five birthdays.
Five birthdays since cancer.
Five years full of joyful moments.
Happy Birthday, to my dear husband, Todd.
Thank you for being a fighter.
I love you.
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
there is a time to be thankful
5 years
Five years ago I was sitting, right now, in the Methodist Hospital Surgery Prep Waiting room with my husband.
Five years ago I had no idea what the future would bring -- all I could hear were the words, "I am truly sorry, but your husband has cancer."
Five years ago left felt so finite. Choking. I couldn't see beyond the day.
Here I am five years later.
Look at the beauty and thanks that can be said for these five years.
I am thankful for:
remission
two cancer scares both turning out to be benign
two new amazing sons - Elijah and Samuel - who the doctors told us would never be
the most supportive and loving family ever - thank you to our parents - thank you
our beautiful family - Hannah, Chloe, Grace, Brennan, Caleb, Elijah and Samuel. We are stronger now.
our church family
great friends
five vacations to the lake -- we are blessed
the ability to mourn, to speak about trials.
sunrises and sunsets
blogging friends
faithfulness
our home
excellent neighbors -- who are now friends
five Christmases
five birthdays
ballet opportunities for my girls (and, yes, they did great)
healing for my heart
laughter
blackberries
green grass in the summer and snow in the winter
dinners around the table
coffee
trips to Duluth
family game nights
much more than I could ever list.
a faithful and healthy husband.
God has blessed me in these five years -- I see it -- and I remember.
Five years ago I was sitting, right now, in the Methodist Hospital Surgery Prep Waiting room with my husband.
Five years ago I had no idea what the future would bring -- all I could hear were the words, "I am truly sorry, but your husband has cancer."
Five years ago left felt so finite. Choking. I couldn't see beyond the day.
Here I am five years later.
Look at the beauty and thanks that can be said for these five years.
I am thankful for:
remission
two cancer scares both turning out to be benign
two new amazing sons - Elijah and Samuel - who the doctors told us would never be
the most supportive and loving family ever - thank you to our parents - thank you
our beautiful family - Hannah, Chloe, Grace, Brennan, Caleb, Elijah and Samuel. We are stronger now.
our church family
great friends
five vacations to the lake -- we are blessed
the ability to mourn, to speak about trials.
sunrises and sunsets
blogging friends
faithfulness
our home
excellent neighbors -- who are now friends
five Christmases
five birthdays
ballet opportunities for my girls (and, yes, they did great)
healing for my heart
laughter
blackberries
green grass in the summer and snow in the winter
dinners around the table
coffee
trips to Duluth
family game nights
much more than I could ever list.
a faithful and healthy husband.
God has blessed me in these five years -- I see it -- and I remember.
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens.
(Ecclesiastes 3)
would you remember?
...this sweet little girl in your family's prayers?
Her name is Ansley and she has cancer. My dear friend, Carissa, told me about her this weekend. Finding out a loved one has cancer is terribly hard -- especially at Christmas. It was awful for our family -- and yet, I cannot imagine how much more difficult when the one diagnosed is a sweet little child.
Will you join me in praying for complete healing? And for peace for her parents? And hope? And even joy in the midst of trial?
Thank you, my blogging friends. Thank you.
I remember.
Her name is Ansley and she has cancer. My dear friend, Carissa, told me about her this weekend. Finding out a loved one has cancer is terribly hard -- especially at Christmas. It was awful for our family -- and yet, I cannot imagine how much more difficult when the one diagnosed is a sweet little child.
Will you join me in praying for complete healing? And for peace for her parents? And hope? And even joy in the midst of trial?
Thank you, my blogging friends. Thank you.
I remember.
i remember. again.
 |
| rainbow - by Brennan 9/09 |
i remember.
Here are thoughts that I had 5 years ago but never expressed. Thoughts about walking with a spouse sick, about friends, and about life.the wife's thoughts
Don't hide from me.
Don't ignore my situation.
Even a simple "I'm sorry" or "I'm praying for you" is good.
Better than nothing.
I know you talked about me.
When I came up the stairs and you all looked at me.
With pity and empathy in your eyes.
Come over and share your words with me.
Don't leave me alone.
It's okay for me to laugh.
Even if I'm hurting.
It's okay for me cry.
Even if I'm happy.
Thank you for the meals.
The cards.
The twenties slipped between pieces of paper.
Coffee runs.
Ask me about the cancer.
Let me explain to you what we are fighting.
Listen.
Just listen, please.
Thank you for sitting with me.
Thank you for holding my hand as I wait.
Thank you for your tears.
Thank you for your prayers.
I know you mean well, but no cliche answers
Sometimes they hurt more.
I just need an ear to hear
And a shoulder to cry on.
Thank you for helping with the kids.
Or doing laundry.
Or putting groceries on my steps.
Thank you for those little things to you
That are so big to me.
Thank you for asking.
Remembering.
Even now, five years later,
Thank you.
i remember
I know you're out there.
You're the one whose heart aches with each post about Christmas.
Where walking through the store is a challenge.
Your life is messy, or scary, or confusing.
You feel alone.
It's hard now, at Christmas, isn't it?
When the world, and bloggers, seem to have beautifully packaged lives. Pictures and recipes and gifts and laughter and happiness.
Inside you feel sad.
Why doesn't anyone notice? Why does it have to be so hard?
Why now?
Why at Christmas?
Don't people know? Don't they know that it's hard to do Christmas when life is so hard?
Do they see?
I do.
I know.
I remember.
I remember walking through Target, with eyes brimming with tears, wishing someone knew that the only reason I was there was to try to find blackberries for the nausea for my husband that was caused by pain-meds from cancer surgery. I remember feeling sad and angry and bitter when I saw the carts bursting with goodies -- like I wasn't a part of the grand celebration.
I remember.
I relied on God greatly during that Christmas. God blessed me with a strength I didn't know I had. A strength to push that cart through Target and to say thank you to the cashier -- and not cry. At least not every time.
I remember thinking about all the hidden others, masked behind their lives, carrying loads. Burdens.
I remember.
Will you remember?
That perhaps that mom that is a bit shorter with her kids, or you, or the cashier, might just have a husband at home sick?
That there are many others who would love to fill a cart with food at Target?
That people, and friends, are way more important than things?
That there is a tomorrow. There is hope.
There is joy.
Even when life is hard?
I remember.
You're the one whose heart aches with each post about Christmas.
Where walking through the store is a challenge.
Your life is messy, or scary, or confusing.
You feel alone.
It's hard now, at Christmas, isn't it?
When the world, and bloggers, seem to have beautifully packaged lives. Pictures and recipes and gifts and laughter and happiness.
Inside you feel sad.
Why doesn't anyone notice? Why does it have to be so hard?
Why now?
Why at Christmas?
Don't people know? Don't they know that it's hard to do Christmas when life is so hard?
Do they see?
I do.
I know.
I remember.
I remember walking through Target, with eyes brimming with tears, wishing someone knew that the only reason I was there was to try to find blackberries for the nausea for my husband that was caused by pain-meds from cancer surgery. I remember feeling sad and angry and bitter when I saw the carts bursting with goodies -- like I wasn't a part of the grand celebration.
I remember.
I relied on God greatly during that Christmas. God blessed me with a strength I didn't know I had. A strength to push that cart through Target and to say thank you to the cashier -- and not cry. At least not every time.
I remember thinking about all the hidden others, masked behind their lives, carrying loads. Burdens.
I remember.
Will you remember?
That perhaps that mom that is a bit shorter with her kids, or you, or the cashier, might just have a husband at home sick?
That there are many others who would love to fill a cart with food at Target?
That people, and friends, are way more important than things?
That there is a tomorrow. There is hope.
There is joy.
Even when life is hard?
I remember.
the milestone
It's been 5 years. Five years ago, our family was led on a journey I never envisioned I would walk. Or, perhaps, I didn't believe that I would be forced down this trail so young in my life.
It was five years ago that Todd told me he needed to go to the doctor.
When your husband wakes you at 2:30 in the morning and whispers those words to you -- you listen. You wake up, even though there is a 6 week old baby sleeping next to you. You don't care that you'll be exhausted. You listen. And I did. As I did I heard the fear in his voice. The worry. The unknown.
And I was afraid.
I remember walking numbly into our computer room at our old house -- it was then 4 am -- and searching on google for diagnosis. Symptoms. The more I looked the more fear crept into my heart. So I tried to sleep, but there was no peace for my heart.
When I called the doctors in the morning everyone dismissed us. But, I knew. I knew Todd had cancer. I knew it at 2:31 am on the night he told me. I knew. But, I still had to fight. Doctors didn't believe he was sick. We didn't fit the statistics. Time kept passing and passing and passing. Drugs and ultrasounds and more doctors. Till finally, on December 19, 2005, at 9:48 in the morning, I was told that my husband had cancer.
I could have told them I knew that for almost 2 months.
But, I didn't. I nodded and thanked the doctor. He asked me if I needed a chaplain to come up to the 3rd floor surgical consult room. I gazed out the window, at the light snow falling, and told him I was okay. Even though I was afraid.
How could I walk this road? I was 30 years old (there--now you all know my age). I wasn't to journey this way till we were older. Where would I ever find the strength to walk this path. I wanted to scream that I felt that this was so unfair. First we lost a job. Then he gets cancer? I was angry. And numb. And tired.
God knew.
He knew I would be beat. He knew. And as I walked the painful journey of sickness -- seeing my soulmate so weak that he needed help walking from the bed to the couch -- I was not alone. My friends rallied around me. Money came from unexpected places. Meals were prepared. My sister sat with me while Todd had ct scans the day before Christmas. I felt loved. Even in the darkest of times.
So as the five year anniversary comes closer and closer I am unsure how to feel and how to define our family. Sometimes I wrestle with even talking about cancer -- and thinking of us as survivors -- because I deal with guilt -- because there are many other families whose outcomes were awful. I never know when to talk about it, or write about it, or think about it.
But, truthfully, cancer is part of my story.
For the next six weeks or so, you might hear a bit about that story. You see, it is because of cancer, and walking a road of utter dependence upon God, that I am who I am today. That path shifted my thinking -- about life, about God, and about truth. It became less about me, and more about Him. Those are the things I think I'll share. Finally. I've kept so much inside, and prayed about it, and now I think it's time to write.
That's me. Rachel, wife of a cancer survivor.
I am so so grateful for five years.
that's us -- one year after the diagnosis
It was five years ago that Todd told me he needed to go to the doctor.
When your husband wakes you at 2:30 in the morning and whispers those words to you -- you listen. You wake up, even though there is a 6 week old baby sleeping next to you. You don't care that you'll be exhausted. You listen. And I did. As I did I heard the fear in his voice. The worry. The unknown.
And I was afraid.
I remember walking numbly into our computer room at our old house -- it was then 4 am -- and searching on google for diagnosis. Symptoms. The more I looked the more fear crept into my heart. So I tried to sleep, but there was no peace for my heart.
When I called the doctors in the morning everyone dismissed us. But, I knew. I knew Todd had cancer. I knew it at 2:31 am on the night he told me. I knew. But, I still had to fight. Doctors didn't believe he was sick. We didn't fit the statistics. Time kept passing and passing and passing. Drugs and ultrasounds and more doctors. Till finally, on December 19, 2005, at 9:48 in the morning, I was told that my husband had cancer.
I could have told them I knew that for almost 2 months.
But, I didn't. I nodded and thanked the doctor. He asked me if I needed a chaplain to come up to the 3rd floor surgical consult room. I gazed out the window, at the light snow falling, and told him I was okay. Even though I was afraid.
How could I walk this road? I was 30 years old (there--now you all know my age). I wasn't to journey this way till we were older. Where would I ever find the strength to walk this path. I wanted to scream that I felt that this was so unfair. First we lost a job. Then he gets cancer? I was angry. And numb. And tired.
God knew.
He knew I would be beat. He knew. And as I walked the painful journey of sickness -- seeing my soulmate so weak that he needed help walking from the bed to the couch -- I was not alone. My friends rallied around me. Money came from unexpected places. Meals were prepared. My sister sat with me while Todd had ct scans the day before Christmas. I felt loved. Even in the darkest of times.
So as the five year anniversary comes closer and closer I am unsure how to feel and how to define our family. Sometimes I wrestle with even talking about cancer -- and thinking of us as survivors -- because I deal with guilt -- because there are many other families whose outcomes were awful. I never know when to talk about it, or write about it, or think about it.
But, truthfully, cancer is part of my story.
For the next six weeks or so, you might hear a bit about that story. You see, it is because of cancer, and walking a road of utter dependence upon God, that I am who I am today. That path shifted my thinking -- about life, about God, and about truth. It became less about me, and more about Him. Those are the things I think I'll share. Finally. I've kept so much inside, and prayed about it, and now I think it's time to write.
That's me. Rachel, wife of a cancer survivor.
I am so so grateful for five years.
that's us -- one year after the diagnosis
December 2006
history
Life verses.
Every year I pray for a verse to define the year. Then I handwrite the verse out on paper and place it on our door to the garage. I look at it several times a week. And I pray the words.
Today's Miscellany? About my very first life verse. And why it became to be.
1) 2 Samuel 22:2-4 -- The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold and my refuge, my savior; you save me from violence. I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praise, and I am saved from my enemies.
2) Why? First, you need to know that I have this small pocket Bible that I carry in my purse. It's blue leather with a Celtic Cross on the cover. And an etched in letter B -- thanks to Brennan when he was learning his letters.
4) I underline and date verses that jump out to me. I love looking back at dates in my Bible and remembering. I love it even more when I open up my Bible to underline a verse and I've found it underlined. Twice.
5) Almost all of Philippians 3 and 4 is underlined. It is now getting difficult to read. That's okay -- because I almost have it memorized.
6) Speaking of memorizing verses, did you know that in the time of Jesus that young children began to memorize the first five books of the Bible when they were five? And, to think, that it takes a long time for me to memorize two chapters. Priorities.
7) That verse in Samuel? That's a life verse. It's extremely meaningful to me. It's date 12/19/05. And written next to it, in shakey hand-writing are the words:
8) Todd's surgery
9) Almost five years ago. You see, when Todd had his surgery for cancer I was at the hospital all alone. I still cannot figure why I was alone -- actually I had with me then baby Caleb -- but I was alone. There's this time when you leave your loved one as they go back to surgery until the time where the surgeon calls you back to discuss the operation. This was written in during the first time. I hadn't talked to the surgeon. I didn't know the beast was cancer (although all the tumor-marker tests, ultrasounds, and lab tests were quite indicative of it being so). All I know was that I was alone. And scared. So I prayed. I prayed as I rode the clunky elevator down to the surgery waiting area. I prayed as I clutched the round light-up beeper telling me that the surgeon wanted to speak to me. I prayed. And I asked the Lord for a verse. I knew it seemed foolish -- open the Bible to a verse -- yet still I prayed. And then my hand gripped that blue leather Bible (without the B at that point) and I simply opened it. To 2 Samuel 22: 2-4
10) And I felt hope. In the midst of a crowded waiting room. While my husband was in surgery. While snowflakes fell, and Caleb nursed. I felt hope. Not from me. Oh, no, not at all. From my Father, our healer.
11) And that is why 2 Samuel 22:2-4 is a life verse. Someday I will go into why each word speaks to my heart. But, for today, I share the beauty behind the verse. About the Lord meeting me in a hospital waiting room.
12) Now you also know why I have a Samuel.
13) He hears. He truly hears. Why? Because -- "Hear I am Lord," --was my exact prayer on that snowy, Monday morning in December.
God's blessings on your Monday. Remember to link up to Carissa's very lovely Miscellany Mondays.
Every year I pray for a verse to define the year. Then I handwrite the verse out on paper and place it on our door to the garage. I look at it several times a week. And I pray the words.
Today's Miscellany? About my very first life verse. And why it became to be.
1) 2 Samuel 22:2-4 -- The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold and my refuge, my savior; you save me from violence. I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praise, and I am saved from my enemies.
2) Why? First, you need to know that I have this small pocket Bible that I carry in my purse. It's blue leather with a Celtic Cross on the cover. And an etched in letter B -- thanks to Brennan when he was learning his letters.
my Bible
(sorry it's blurry -- I took the pic at night in bad lighting)
3) At first I was annoyed that Brennan wrote on my Bible. But, now, as time passes, that little B with the two b humps not joined and the line way to long is precious to me. And, honestly, it gives me perspective. Sometimes the hard things turn to good. It just takes time.4) I underline and date verses that jump out to me. I love looking back at dates in my Bible and remembering. I love it even more when I open up my Bible to underline a verse and I've found it underlined. Twice.
that's my Bible
and, yes, that's Philippians.
5) Almost all of Philippians 3 and 4 is underlined. It is now getting difficult to read. That's okay -- because I almost have it memorized.
6) Speaking of memorizing verses, did you know that in the time of Jesus that young children began to memorize the first five books of the Bible when they were five? And, to think, that it takes a long time for me to memorize two chapters. Priorities.
7) That verse in Samuel? That's a life verse. It's extremely meaningful to me. It's date 12/19/05. And written next to it, in shakey hand-writing are the words:
8) Todd's surgery
9) Almost five years ago. You see, when Todd had his surgery for cancer I was at the hospital all alone. I still cannot figure why I was alone -- actually I had with me then baby Caleb -- but I was alone. There's this time when you leave your loved one as they go back to surgery until the time where the surgeon calls you back to discuss the operation. This was written in during the first time. I hadn't talked to the surgeon. I didn't know the beast was cancer (although all the tumor-marker tests, ultrasounds, and lab tests were quite indicative of it being so). All I know was that I was alone. And scared. So I prayed. I prayed as I rode the clunky elevator down to the surgery waiting area. I prayed as I clutched the round light-up beeper telling me that the surgeon wanted to speak to me. I prayed. And I asked the Lord for a verse. I knew it seemed foolish -- open the Bible to a verse -- yet still I prayed. And then my hand gripped that blue leather Bible (without the B at that point) and I simply opened it. To 2 Samuel 22: 2-4
10) And I felt hope. In the midst of a crowded waiting room. While my husband was in surgery. While snowflakes fell, and Caleb nursed. I felt hope. Not from me. Oh, no, not at all. From my Father, our healer.
that was my little Caleb
my faithful and brave boy
my faithful and brave boy
11) And that is why 2 Samuel 22:2-4 is a life verse. Someday I will go into why each word speaks to my heart. But, for today, I share the beauty behind the verse. About the Lord meeting me in a hospital waiting room.
12) Now you also know why I have a Samuel.
13) He hears. He truly hears. Why? Because -- "Hear I am Lord," --was my exact prayer on that snowy, Monday morning in December.
The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold and my refuge, my savior; you save me from violence. I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praise, and I am saved from my enemies.
2 Samuel 22:3-4
my Samuel
it's me, caleb
(such sweet words)
Whenever Caleb comes in the room he announces his presence with -
it's me, Caleb.
And today, September 15th, it's that sweet boy's fifth birthday.
I love him.
Before he was born, I knew that his middle name was to be Daniel. Knew it. Then, after praying, both Todd and I felt that he was to be called Caleb. His name together? Caleb Daniel. Which means faithful and brave.
Little did we know that a short eight weeks after his birth, my husband, Caleb's dad would be diagnosed with cancer. I would hold that little baby, rock him, and feel the goodness despite the worries. When we'd go to the Cancer Center patients would line up to greet the baby -- my Caleb. He was hope in the midst of trial.
And he's always held that special spot in my heart.
When I'm down, he brings me flowers.
When I'm sad, he gives me a hug.
When I laugh, he laughs louder.
When I work, he works besides me.
I love my Caleb.
I am so grateful to be his mom.
Whenever Caleb comes in the room he announces his presence with -
it's me, Caleb.
And today, September 15th, it's that sweet boy's fifth birthday.
I love him.
Before he was born, I knew that his middle name was to be Daniel. Knew it. Then, after praying, both Todd and I felt that he was to be called Caleb. His name together? Caleb Daniel. Which means faithful and brave.
Caleb and me - he was six weeks old
October 2005
Little did we know that a short eight weeks after his birth, my husband, Caleb's dad would be diagnosed with cancer. I would hold that little baby, rock him, and feel the goodness despite the worries. When we'd go to the Cancer Center patients would line up to greet the baby -- my Caleb. He was hope in the midst of trial.
Caleb on the 4th of July
July 2009
When I'm down, he brings me flowers.
When I'm sad, he gives me a hug.
When I laugh, he laughs louder.
When I work, he works besides me.
I love my Caleb.
I am so grateful to be his mom.
Happy Birthday - It's Me, Caleb!
------------------------
the comparison trap
If I'm me and your you then what does that make me?
(please note: this post is about my journey with words and empathy. It is not directed at anyone else. In fact, all I've ever received from any of you are kind, sweet, and encouraging comments. And for that...THANK YOU!)
Comparison is such a slippery slope. It's so easy to state, "I totally relate" or "you and I are alike" or "I remember when I went through that (insert anything) struggle." These phrases, in and of themselves are harmless. But sometimes, those simple words can hurt or minimize those receiving them. Never intentionally. I think that we look for ways to relate to others and it's easy to take our life experiences, or moods, or personality and compare them with someone else. When we see a parallel, then it's also just as simple to make a connection, a comparison and think that we've got them (or ourselves) figured out. Again, nothing wrong with making a parallel. The danger, to me, comes when our words effectively box someone else or their trials or journey or just life into a certain position. A position that we, as the observer, claims to understand. A position, that I am trying to sort out in my own life. It's that line of being empathetic and yet not assuming that I totally get it. I tend to want to state that I understand, and yet, I'm starting to realize that those words are more to make me at ease...and less about seeking to understand the other's heart.
As an example, my blogging pal carissa @ lowercaseletters, just posted about having to go in and get an annual check for cancer. Her father died from cancer when she was young. My husband had cancer. You'd think it would be an easy connection...cancer...right? Yet the words, "I totally understand," wouldn't work. Even though I've experienced cancer I don't understand the complexity of her feelings right now. For me to tell her that I get it might lead to a feeling of frustration on the receiving end. How could I get that? I can't. I get cancer from my own paradigm. I have a heart that emphasizes for those on a cancer journey. Instead I've learned to add the words, "in my house" (thank you to my friends at momys for that phrase) or "in my life" or "in my heart" to a statement or comment.
In my house, I understand how vicious and mean cancer is. I understand watching someone I love go through medical crisis. I understand intense financial pressure. But I do not understand having a parent die. I simply don't. So my comments, my words are less of comparison and more about empathy...understanding the other's heart.
It's so easy to seek out someone who seems to be just like us. We start to compare and contrast lives and stories. I know I've gone through times where I desperately want that connection. And we need connections. Trust me. That's why there are support groups, and online forums, and Caribous coffees for crazy moms like me to gather. But, in the same breath, the Lord has made us all unique...individuals. Think of the snowflakes. Not one alike. Even though they're piled on the same hill, they all have their own individual beauty. Their own stories. My story is uniquely me. Your story you. When we appreciate the value in hearing someone else's words and take the words without comparing them to ourselves, and identifying ourself based on others, we find this freedom. It's less about self, and more about others. More about wanting to understand their heart, their point of view, their lives. And less about imposing our own self onto them. It frees us to keep our identity rooted in Christ, and not in them.
I love my blogging pals. I love my friends. And I love reading your stories. Thank you for sharing glimpses of your lives and hearts with me. I am pushed by your honesty, and motivated by your courage, and humbled with your truths. I've laughed and cried over your words. Seriously...thank you. I appreciate you.
(please note: this post is about my journey with words and empathy. It is not directed at anyone else. In fact, all I've ever received from any of you are kind, sweet, and encouraging comments. And for that...THANK YOU!)
Comparison is such a slippery slope. It's so easy to state, "I totally relate" or "you and I are alike" or "I remember when I went through that (insert anything) struggle." These phrases, in and of themselves are harmless. But sometimes, those simple words can hurt or minimize those receiving them. Never intentionally. I think that we look for ways to relate to others and it's easy to take our life experiences, or moods, or personality and compare them with someone else. When we see a parallel, then it's also just as simple to make a connection, a comparison and think that we've got them (or ourselves) figured out. Again, nothing wrong with making a parallel. The danger, to me, comes when our words effectively box someone else or their trials or journey or just life into a certain position. A position that we, as the observer, claims to understand. A position, that I am trying to sort out in my own life. It's that line of being empathetic and yet not assuming that I totally get it. I tend to want to state that I understand, and yet, I'm starting to realize that those words are more to make me at ease...and less about seeking to understand the other's heart.
As an example, my blogging pal carissa @ lowercaseletters, just posted about having to go in and get an annual check for cancer. Her father died from cancer when she was young. My husband had cancer. You'd think it would be an easy connection...cancer...right? Yet the words, "I totally understand," wouldn't work. Even though I've experienced cancer I don't understand the complexity of her feelings right now. For me to tell her that I get it might lead to a feeling of frustration on the receiving end. How could I get that? I can't. I get cancer from my own paradigm. I have a heart that emphasizes for those on a cancer journey. Instead I've learned to add the words, "in my house" (thank you to my friends at momys for that phrase) or "in my life" or "in my heart" to a statement or comment.
In my house, I understand how vicious and mean cancer is. I understand watching someone I love go through medical crisis. I understand intense financial pressure. But I do not understand having a parent die. I simply don't. So my comments, my words are less of comparison and more about empathy...understanding the other's heart.
It's so easy to seek out someone who seems to be just like us. We start to compare and contrast lives and stories. I know I've gone through times where I desperately want that connection. And we need connections. Trust me. That's why there are support groups, and online forums, and Caribous coffees for crazy moms like me to gather. But, in the same breath, the Lord has made us all unique...individuals. Think of the snowflakes. Not one alike. Even though they're piled on the same hill, they all have their own individual beauty. Their own stories. My story is uniquely me. Your story you. When we appreciate the value in hearing someone else's words and take the words without comparing them to ourselves, and identifying ourself based on others, we find this freedom. It's less about self, and more about others. More about wanting to understand their heart, their point of view, their lives. And less about imposing our own self onto them. It frees us to keep our identity rooted in Christ, and not in them.
snowflakes
(all snowflake pics courtesy of snowcrystals.com)
I don't know why I wrote this. I know I've compared myself many, many, many times. And sometimes I try to compare because I don't know what else to say. I'm stumped, I want to help, but I'm frozen. I'm soooo far from getting this right. Truthfully, sometimes, in the midst of being vulnerable, I think the best replies are those that thank the person for sharing their heart. Honesty is so crucial in this world. Telling someone that you are so sorry, and that you can't begin to understand the difficulty of this journey, and asking them how you can help, or what to pray can go so far. Maybe it's just about embracing another's gifts. Not needing to line them up and compare with our own. It's about being so rooted in Christ that we see the beauty in their story...their journey. We can take our connections that we have, our parallels, and use them to build up, to edify, to encourage. We can be piled together on the same hill, but ultimately we're all unique. It's about seeking to understand....to listen....to be real.I love my blogging pals. I love my friends. And I love reading your stories. Thank you for sharing glimpses of your lives and hearts with me. I am pushed by your honesty, and motivated by your courage, and humbled with your truths. I've laughed and cried over your words. Seriously...thank you. I appreciate you.
Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body.... Romans 12:4-5a
The Cancer Diary
There are certain books in your life that can close yet still remain on your shelf. By sitting on the shelf they have the potential to be opened at any time. But I don’t need to be staring at The Cancer Diary, reading it daily. It’s been a little over four years since my husband finished treatment for cancer. Four years filled with awesome gifts and devastating lows. Not only does cancer affect health, but it trickles into every facet of one’s life.
Relationships. Finances. Friendships. Family. Time. Faith.
Todd - 2 years before diagnosis
Every headache, stomach ache, lump or pain raises flags in my mind. How can it not? Especially when I have our oncology doctor’s number in my cell phone file. Even last year, a simple nodule on the back of my husband’s neck caused the medical community to move at lightening speed. Instead of waiting weeks to watch it and see multiple doctors, my husband saw a surgeon within 24 hours of bringing the lump to his oncologist’s attention. And it was completely biopsied with path reports within another 24 hours. No longer is my husband’s medical complaints ever considered minor. He is, in fact, flagged for life. “You’ve had cancer?” they ask, and then move his chart to the priority slot.
I don’t want to live worried about headaches and pains. There’s no freedom in that mindset. So I’ve chosen to adopt this book mentality with regards to cancer. When I need to know I can open the book. I know exactly where we stopped so there’s no worry in losing my spot. But I don’t need to live with it staring me in the face. And that involves faith, and trust, and casting those worries elsewhere.
On the Lord. Daily.
I’m writing about cancer today because when I write it brings healing. It’s a part of who I am now. I can’t go through Caribou Coffee during Breast Cancer awareness month and not feel compelled to buy Amy’s Blend, or donate, or share some of my story. When I wear my Livestrong bracelet I want to share my story. And likewise, if I see someone wear one I am not afraid to start a conversation. In fact, there probably is not one week that goes by where m story doesn't come out. When I read about others’ journies via the blogworld my heart aches for the trials and rejoices for the victories. My heart seems to be tuned in to hear that two syllable word...cancer.
family - 2 years after diagnosis
As the wife of a cancer survivor I’ve learned that I can be strong, and brave, and that I can feel deeply. It became so apparent to me that I was masking the pains and hurts in my life when Todd was sick. Instead of clinging to all the facades I had no choice but to let every one of my “I’ve got it all together” masks shatter at our Savior’s feet. In letting go, I began to find my voice, and I began to write. And in writing it gives me freedom. Freedom to admit that my life is messy, that I struggle, that I hurt, and that I rejoice. Tucked in all of those honest moments is a heart that continually strives to seek and bring glory to our King, our Savior.
Thank you to all who read my blog. Your comments are sweet and motivating. It’s an interesting thing, this blogging. My heart is put on the line many times…and yet I still come back, still write, still seek joy. Through it all I can boldly state that the Lord is good in all times….So again thank you. Will all my posts be like this? Nope. But there’ll be some because in remembering and writing there’s healing. Healing and freedom.
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If you know of any bloggers out there going through a journey with health will you let me know? I’d love to comment, to offer encouragement, and to lend an ear. I have been blessed throughout the years by various friends found through my blogging world. To all of you: Thank you.
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One last thing. Would you keep my sweet Samuel, the cutie from the paper or plastic pictures from yesterday, in your prayers? He's got a fever today...and I'm sure he'll be fine...but, I always value and appreciate prayer.
Samuel - yesterday
Week 1 of 4....food loves
WOW. One favorite food? When I have so, so many? I could list ice cream, or bulgogi (curious?), or strawberry shortcake, or chicken with artichokes, or CHOCOLATE. All favorites. Sigh...how to choose?
But then, I got thinking, also spurred on by Hannah over at Aspire, about my coffee. Sure some could say that I was all in it for the caffeine, but for me, the coffee has a deeper meaning. So, now with that intro, I will boldly state that coffee...specifically coffee at Startbucks, or Caribou, or Dunn Brothers...is probably my favorite food. I mean, beverage. Want to know why? Well, I'll write about it anyways.....:)
I didn't start out as much of a coffee drinker. Even when I was in college studying architecture and interior design, when I was up late creating scale models, I just didn't reach for coffee. Specialty coffee was a newer phenomenon back then (notice I didn't say WAY back then). There was a coffee house in the student union building. So I'd get a mocha now and then...but SERIOUSLY...I was terrified to even order. There were so many choices, too many, and it was just weird. Too bad there wasn't wikipedia WAY, I mean back then.
So I got married, had Hannah (who came up with this fun idea), Chloe (my aspiring pastry chef...and man, is she good), and Grace. Then we moved to San Diego for a while. And let me tell you that Starbucks is EVERYWHERE out there. And they had drive-thrus. Now, that may not seem like a big deal, but when you are the mother of three young children a drive-thru can make or break the deal. Especially when you used to live in Minnesota (which, by the way, is the current state of residence). So I'd find my little green mini-van slipping through the Starbucks drive-thru. And I became hooked.
ahhh...the drive-thru
Well, now by the time we moved home several Starbucks and Caribous began to get the idea that a drive-thru was a great idea. I don't know how having a drive-thru when it's -22 degrees helped business. Are you kidding me? It's AWESOME. Anyways, I learned to love my little treats.But there's still something deeper.
Money was tight. There weren't many luxuries that I could buy, and my husband, Todd, always wiggled in room for me to get a latte once in a while. Then he got sick. By this time we had Caleb (our 5th baby). Caleb was six weeks old when we noticed something wasn't right. And then it took another 5 weeks for Todd to finally have surgery, find out it WAS cancer and then begin treatment. Well, the day he had surgery I was at the hospital alone except for baby Caleb. I still don't know why I was there alone. I cannot believe no one came with. However, I've started to believe that it was critical that I was there alone. I wept and poured my heart out to the Lord. If there had been others I probably would have hid the rawness, the aches, the pain and the fear.
Ok...coffee connection?
When I came down the elevator after saying goodbye as they led him off to surgery I started to pray. And I prayed and prayed and prayed. I remember praying this quick, 2 second silly prayer, "and please Lord, let them have REAL coffee...like Caribou." I'm not sure why that came out in my prayers, but it did. Perhaps it was comfort, or security that I was wanting. Well, I get off the elevator and I walk to the food area, and I see a sign that states:
Methodist Hospital PROUDLY serves Caribou Coffee.
I was blown away. My coffee mattered. My little, itty-bitty prayer mattered. It put into focus what a caring God we serve. Not only can He move mountains, but he loves me, and you, so much that those little details, the little quirks about ourselves, matter to Him. And, how I love Him.
The four years since this date have been full of joys and struggles. There have been really devastatingly hard times. Our financial picture became trashed due to almost a year of lost work. The economy crashed. Pain. And still joy. My Elijah. And Samuel. And the amazing blessings of my five older children: Hannah, Chloe, Grace, Brennan and Caleb. That we are still cancer free. We have a home. Amazing friends.
I still get my coffee. The kids have discovered that without it it's like my kryptonite. So if they see me stressed, or anxiety-ridden, they'll tell me, "why don't you go get a cup of coffee mom? We'll tidy up and watch the little ones." Tidy up? (my other trigger point) and Get coffee? They've got me figured out.
I know coffee isn't all that I need. The Lord is truly the number one. There have been times where I've fasted from coffee. But, I'll tell you the truth, that for me, coffee is comfort, relaxing and a fave food of mine. And deep, deep in my mind I'll never forget the blessing of the dreary December 19th when I saw the Caribou sign in the hospital lobby.
I can't wait to hear about all your favorite foods! Link up. Join in. :)
(oh, one last thing...one year I received $65 of coffee gift cards for my birthday. Then this year I got a Keurig coffee maker which can brew Caribou coffee. I think it's safe to say that my secret is figured out)
coffee
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