"Well, there is a range in the definition of well-managed metastatic cancer. The question is if the chemo drugs are working. Therefor, the screening for colon cancer is waranted. Or, is it a [shrug shoulders] why bother with an uncomfortable procedure."
The decision was made that I would have my annual colonoscopy as is standard once the diagnoses of Colitis goes beyond ten years...I am fifteen years out. It was much later in the day when it dawned on me what this conversation was about. My G.I. Doctor was gently inquiring if I was told by my oncologist, who he shares more patients with then he would like, that time was up soon. And, to the question I can only answer, no. I don't think anyone knows. I keep fighting the big C. And, I keep getting to the point where I forget that the rest of the world sees me as the young mom dying of breast cancer.
During most minutes in my day with my children and even when I am a lone, I am just living a wonderful life though it is stressful and lonely a lot. I manage just as any woman turning thirty-seven in four days. I stay up way too late folding laundry and kick myself for not loving vegetables more then I don't. It really isn't much different from your life minute to minute. Sure, many of my minutes are spent at doctor offices. But, hey, just as many are spent at soccer games. Sure, I don't look at myself much anymore in the mirror for the changes to my face, the lack of hair for the second time, and my scared chest only remind me that I am not a super woman in the body department. All in all, I have a great life even though I spend too much time thinking about clean toilets when I should be using my true talents.
I am reading the Art of Racing in the Rain. There is a lot in there that resonates. In several places he writes, what you see out the windshield manifests. See, that is what it is for me. I see my grandchildren. So then why do I have to be reminded by the world that I am a very young woman with a very aggressive dissease. Oh, I don't know, and I am upsetting myself thinking about it. All I know is that I have to think about it. And, that dying seems very far away for me today. It is a minute to minute struggle to manifest LIFE out in front of my car that is racing in the rain.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
A glass half full is not empty
Messages come in interesting packages. My chilren have been fighting about fairness for weeks now. Nothing is fair. And, if it isn't exactly the same, then aparently, I owe the other something to compensate. Then it esculates to the one who is supposed to have had more is now jealous the other one is getting something and wants something too. And, by the way, I never said they are getting anything. There are tears, there is screaming, and there is Mommy trying really hard unsucessfully to be nonreactive to the situation. It was so much easier when they were two and three. The toy went in toy jail and the issue was solved. Oh, I miss the days or parrallell play.
During church yesterday, and the children attended with us, Pastor Alan discussed Peter and how he denied Christ three times. So when Jesus returned to Peter, he asked him if he loved him and told him to watch his sheep three times. Peter thought it was unfair to be asked three times. The discussion moved forward to the desciplies conflicting about their allotted roles as followers. One example is that all died a mayrter's death excpet John. And, the question was asked...would dying early a martyr's death after years of struggle be better or worse then living a really long time full of struggle? Which is more fair?
The question is, what is fair whether we are talking about the length of life as a disciple or how many Squeekies and Jelly Bellies you got in your Easter Eggs. So this is obviouly the task I am given as caretaker of my children. How do I teach them that things always work out the way they should? Though they are different, it is fair. How do we get beyond the fighting, competition, the tears? I would love to sing-song through my mornings with children smiling and doing what they are asked. A stay-at-home-mom's dream.
I can not tell my kids that it is not fair that I am the one with cancer. It is here in this world. I rather it be me then my mother or best friend. Then again, I would rather it not be me. It is not fair! Do I blame God? No. Nothing is a hundred percent. If it were, we would have no need for percents and prayer.
Short of blaming me for all means of unfairness, the children just want the best for themselves. They are their own first knight. So yes, I am proud of them for standing up for themselves, for fighting for what they perceive is rightly theirs. Now that they have grown to be strong warriors, how do I teach them to surrender gracefully and accept that a cup half full is not an empty cup? I suppose the same way I tell myself to be thankful I am here today even when I don't feel good or have too many chores to get done. I am here doing what I am supposed to be doing. With patience, my children will find this balance too. See, there is my silver lining. Through struggle comes lesrning about yourself. By learning about yourself, you step closer to self-actualizing. The closer you come to slef-actuallizing, the closer you become to understanding the Godliness in you.
John lived a long life. He was supposed to. He needed the time to watch over His sheep. Some of us are meant to be sparklers and some of us are meant to be stones. A firecracker makes a point in a grand moment of splender. A stone rolls years in the river effecting the course. Neither is perfect. Who wants to brun out shortly? Who wants to roll along for ever? Just as, who wants to be a brilliant light creating ohs and ahs in the night sky? And, who wants to create a lasting impression and effect change?
I am not sure how that answers my question as a parent. I will stay the course as a stone in the river rolling patiently, repeting lessons and examples on dealing with these feelings of jealousy, model by example, and pray. Wow, think of the furture. If they are already grand champions of their needs, when they understand the balance of accepting a half full glass as one that is not empty....
During church yesterday, and the children attended with us, Pastor Alan discussed Peter and how he denied Christ three times. So when Jesus returned to Peter, he asked him if he loved him and told him to watch his sheep three times. Peter thought it was unfair to be asked three times. The discussion moved forward to the desciplies conflicting about their allotted roles as followers. One example is that all died a mayrter's death excpet John. And, the question was asked...would dying early a martyr's death after years of struggle be better or worse then living a really long time full of struggle? Which is more fair?
The question is, what is fair whether we are talking about the length of life as a disciple or how many Squeekies and Jelly Bellies you got in your Easter Eggs. So this is obviouly the task I am given as caretaker of my children. How do I teach them that things always work out the way they should? Though they are different, it is fair. How do we get beyond the fighting, competition, the tears? I would love to sing-song through my mornings with children smiling and doing what they are asked. A stay-at-home-mom's dream.
I can not tell my kids that it is not fair that I am the one with cancer. It is here in this world. I rather it be me then my mother or best friend. Then again, I would rather it not be me. It is not fair! Do I blame God? No. Nothing is a hundred percent. If it were, we would have no need for percents and prayer.
Short of blaming me for all means of unfairness, the children just want the best for themselves. They are their own first knight. So yes, I am proud of them for standing up for themselves, for fighting for what they perceive is rightly theirs. Now that they have grown to be strong warriors, how do I teach them to surrender gracefully and accept that a cup half full is not an empty cup? I suppose the same way I tell myself to be thankful I am here today even when I don't feel good or have too many chores to get done. I am here doing what I am supposed to be doing. With patience, my children will find this balance too. See, there is my silver lining. Through struggle comes lesrning about yourself. By learning about yourself, you step closer to self-actualizing. The closer you come to slef-actuallizing, the closer you become to understanding the Godliness in you.
John lived a long life. He was supposed to. He needed the time to watch over His sheep. Some of us are meant to be sparklers and some of us are meant to be stones. A firecracker makes a point in a grand moment of splender. A stone rolls years in the river effecting the course. Neither is perfect. Who wants to brun out shortly? Who wants to roll along for ever? Just as, who wants to be a brilliant light creating ohs and ahs in the night sky? And, who wants to create a lasting impression and effect change?
I am not sure how that answers my question as a parent. I will stay the course as a stone in the river rolling patiently, repeting lessons and examples on dealing with these feelings of jealousy, model by example, and pray. Wow, think of the furture. If they are already grand champions of their needs, when they understand the balance of accepting a half full glass as one that is not empty....
Thursday, April 5, 2012
And it Ends with...Om.
So we are driving like eighteen hours to San Diego across some of the most baren and beautiful land this country has to offer when I had a thought. What do I believe? We had been listening to various audio books by Eckhart Tolle, Wayne Dywer and Depok Chopra. I think we started one by the Dali Lama. But, if you have ever listened to his audio books, you will know it is too relaxing and monotone for a driver to stay alert. Each of these men talked about looking inward, getting into the gap. This space is where you find God.
If I remember correctLy, Wayne Dywer explained it in the most layman's terms when he was discussing creativity. I could relate to being in the zone, the gap, and loosing all sense of time while I am making things in my studio room when it is silent. Of course, the gap is found in meditation and during prayer. Finding it in these states can take a little effort in letting go of effort. And, I wonder if I get there as often as I could. I have been there and it is better then an orgasim. O, maybe it is like an orgasim for your spirit, you choose. I believe there is a gap because I have been there. I have been devoid of thought and in the space between the pauses. I have seen the colors that seem to burst behind my eye lids that are softly closed. I believe that maybe that I was with God if only for a second. How do these guys meditate thirty minutes in the morning and thirty minutes in the eveving? Oh, that is right, they don't have small children at home. I know, priorities.
At any rate, meditating, being in a creative zen moment, or the spark in you heart when you truely give something of yourself to someone in need are all ways the great spiritual teachers, now I am talking about Jesus, Budah, and those guys and a few ladies from our past, pointed the way towards God. So let us flash forward to grocery shopping at Von's on Corronado Island with my mothr-in-law. This older man, likely a bit snockered, came up to me from the side and placed his stranger's hand on my shoulder. I shuttered. He asked how I was doing like he knew me. Then he went on to ask when my cancer would be over and a short rant about God saving me when I told him I was stage four and my cancer doesn't get to be over. Yes, I said it politely. What I was really thinking is, "Thanks for reminding me I am going to die sooner then later, Asshole. My cancer is over when I am dead.". What bothers me here is the personification of God this man offered. I understand people say strange things out of discomfort and own personal concern or reflection. But, it doesn't make any sense to hear that God is going to make it all better and take the pain away...or whatever...like he is my dad putting a bandaid on my knee. Maybe it is the perspective of dying that I only share with other terminally ill folks and eight-five year old grandparents knowing that my time here is not long that makes me skeptic when I am told God will make it all better.
Now, don't get all depressed. I am just trying to figure it all out. It is all very abstract. One belief I have is that there are signs all the time telling you what needs to be done. Mine have been telling me to speak out about God in the way my head swirls around the abstract essence of spirituality. I have heard it everywhere since my baptism. "Go figure it out, don't fret if you don't fully understand, be one with that, and don't fear judgement as you share your thoughts with others." So here is what I know. I know I can be one with God in the space between the pauses, the gap. I know God can't take the cancer away. I know that being one with God in the gap realigns my electyo-whatevers that make up this physical humaness. And that is what is really meant by God taking the pain away. For when you are in the zen moment and alligned with spirit, there is freedom from your illness and comfort for your tears. And, that all swirls around in my head abstractly exhausting me. Time to put this brain to rest in savasanan...om.
Oh, and friends, when you meet someone with cancer, don't treat them like they are going to die tomorrow. And, don't tell them it is all going to be alright because it is not. It is what it is. So give them your sincere smile of honor, a hug and change the subject. That is of course unless the person wants to ramble on and on. If you can stomach it, listen. Otherwise, simply say, "May I pray for you?" If I blieve one thing, I believe in the power of prayer.
If I remember correctLy, Wayne Dywer explained it in the most layman's terms when he was discussing creativity. I could relate to being in the zone, the gap, and loosing all sense of time while I am making things in my studio room when it is silent. Of course, the gap is found in meditation and during prayer. Finding it in these states can take a little effort in letting go of effort. And, I wonder if I get there as often as I could. I have been there and it is better then an orgasim. O, maybe it is like an orgasim for your spirit, you choose. I believe there is a gap because I have been there. I have been devoid of thought and in the space between the pauses. I have seen the colors that seem to burst behind my eye lids that are softly closed. I believe that maybe that I was with God if only for a second. How do these guys meditate thirty minutes in the morning and thirty minutes in the eveving? Oh, that is right, they don't have small children at home. I know, priorities.
At any rate, meditating, being in a creative zen moment, or the spark in you heart when you truely give something of yourself to someone in need are all ways the great spiritual teachers, now I am talking about Jesus, Budah, and those guys and a few ladies from our past, pointed the way towards God. So let us flash forward to grocery shopping at Von's on Corronado Island with my mothr-in-law. This older man, likely a bit snockered, came up to me from the side and placed his stranger's hand on my shoulder. I shuttered. He asked how I was doing like he knew me. Then he went on to ask when my cancer would be over and a short rant about God saving me when I told him I was stage four and my cancer doesn't get to be over. Yes, I said it politely. What I was really thinking is, "Thanks for reminding me I am going to die sooner then later, Asshole. My cancer is over when I am dead.". What bothers me here is the personification of God this man offered. I understand people say strange things out of discomfort and own personal concern or reflection. But, it doesn't make any sense to hear that God is going to make it all better and take the pain away...or whatever...like he is my dad putting a bandaid on my knee. Maybe it is the perspective of dying that I only share with other terminally ill folks and eight-five year old grandparents knowing that my time here is not long that makes me skeptic when I am told God will make it all better.
Now, don't get all depressed. I am just trying to figure it all out. It is all very abstract. One belief I have is that there are signs all the time telling you what needs to be done. Mine have been telling me to speak out about God in the way my head swirls around the abstract essence of spirituality. I have heard it everywhere since my baptism. "Go figure it out, don't fret if you don't fully understand, be one with that, and don't fear judgement as you share your thoughts with others." So here is what I know. I know I can be one with God in the space between the pauses, the gap. I know God can't take the cancer away. I know that being one with God in the gap realigns my electyo-whatevers that make up this physical humaness. And that is what is really meant by God taking the pain away. For when you are in the zen moment and alligned with spirit, there is freedom from your illness and comfort for your tears. And, that all swirls around in my head abstractly exhausting me. Time to put this brain to rest in savasanan...om.
Oh, and friends, when you meet someone with cancer, don't treat them like they are going to die tomorrow. And, don't tell them it is all going to be alright because it is not. It is what it is. So give them your sincere smile of honor, a hug and change the subject. That is of course unless the person wants to ramble on and on. If you can stomach it, listen. Otherwise, simply say, "May I pray for you?" If I blieve one thing, I believe in the power of prayer.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Surviving the Daily
A big part of survivorship is physical, that is obvious. But, the mental takes the award for the most challenging. There are normal ups and downs, morning of losses, nightmares of the future, and frustrations that your body as it functions at a slow half tilt. But, the things people and the media say can be some of the most challenging.
My favorite shows, somewhere along their time lines, usually have someone dealing with cancer. Sometimes the script is well written. Private Practice, for example, has a mother with a brain tumor. It is hard to watch how she deals with her son. I doubt some nights whether I should watch the show as it brings up a lot of emotions. Even a comedy I watch, How I Met Your Mother, dealt with cancer. Of course it was a sub-plot and in the end she was cancer free.
Most of the time, especially on dramodies, the scripts about cancer are not written well. They can be hurtful in their naive nonchalance and under researched reality. Sometimes they are so far fetched they are easy to blow off. Other times they can make a "real" survivor laugh at the ridiculousness of the comment.
In general, before I was forced off the plank into the deep water, cancer seemed so far out of reality. It was exactly the laughable killer of the old guy in the apartment above that causes the weird smell on the comedy or the one season long struggle of a Desperate Housewife. Lynette, by the way, only revisited her cancer once after she was "cured" of breast cancer several seasons back. But, I can't complain because the script dealt with the character's cancer journey fairly well that season as well with other characters on Wisteria Lane.
All this thinking about the comments said by those not close to cancer and my own reactions to them started Saturday night. My husband took me to a gala in Boulder. It was a creative black tie art auction for the Transitions Global and the Naropa University International Art Therapy Organization in charity for their work with survivors of the Cambodian sex trafficking. I had donated one work of art based off of the matchbox the University provided for inspiration. We had a good time, chatting, dancing, and making bids on the art work. We came home with two pieces. So I will leave you with the comment that stabbed me. Yes, I understand the nativity of its reference. And, yes, I can brush it off as I am a Survivor with a capitol S. But, it is a reminder that it takes a bit of a back bone daily. Keep in mind that I have lived with stage four cancer for three years exactly.
(MC is talking up a piece of art that was donated by a local artist to get more bids.)
"This piece has an extra value because, [the artist] has stage four cancer and won't be with us much longer. He will be gone soon so get some art from him now. Put a bid down and it could be yours."
My favorite shows, somewhere along their time lines, usually have someone dealing with cancer. Sometimes the script is well written. Private Practice, for example, has a mother with a brain tumor. It is hard to watch how she deals with her son. I doubt some nights whether I should watch the show as it brings up a lot of emotions. Even a comedy I watch, How I Met Your Mother, dealt with cancer. Of course it was a sub-plot and in the end she was cancer free.
Most of the time, especially on dramodies, the scripts about cancer are not written well. They can be hurtful in their naive nonchalance and under researched reality. Sometimes they are so far fetched they are easy to blow off. Other times they can make a "real" survivor laugh at the ridiculousness of the comment.
In general, before I was forced off the plank into the deep water, cancer seemed so far out of reality. It was exactly the laughable killer of the old guy in the apartment above that causes the weird smell on the comedy or the one season long struggle of a Desperate Housewife. Lynette, by the way, only revisited her cancer once after she was "cured" of breast cancer several seasons back. But, I can't complain because the script dealt with the character's cancer journey fairly well that season as well with other characters on Wisteria Lane.
All this thinking about the comments said by those not close to cancer and my own reactions to them started Saturday night. My husband took me to a gala in Boulder. It was a creative black tie art auction for the Transitions Global and the Naropa University International Art Therapy Organization in charity for their work with survivors of the Cambodian sex trafficking. I had donated one work of art based off of the matchbox the University provided for inspiration. We had a good time, chatting, dancing, and making bids on the art work. We came home with two pieces. So I will leave you with the comment that stabbed me. Yes, I understand the nativity of its reference. And, yes, I can brush it off as I am a Survivor with a capitol S. But, it is a reminder that it takes a bit of a back bone daily. Keep in mind that I have lived with stage four cancer for three years exactly.
(MC is talking up a piece of art that was donated by a local artist to get more bids.)
"This piece has an extra value because, [the artist] has stage four cancer and won't be with us much longer. He will be gone soon so get some art from him now. Put a bid down and it could be yours."
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Why?
It is not surprising that during the past couple of days I have been asked why I decided to be baptized as an adult. Some question because of curiosity. Some ask because they are asking themselves. One asked someone I know, who then told me, if I would be marching around witnessing to others since I was joining one of those "big" churches. Nay, that is not the Sara you know. My religion is a personal one that is meek. I witness through example and charity.
But, let us get back to the question at hand, why did I choose to be baptized? As I listened to the explanation of the history and theology of the church I had been attending, but was not a member of, I learned that it was where I belonged. Basically, they exsist somewere between Presbyterians and Methodist with a little Baptists thrown in the mix. I grew up in a Methodist church in Texas where the pastor looked just like Jesus from the hair to the sadals. During my teen years, we moved to California and joined a Presbyterian church. I was very active in the high school youth group and even sat in the very front pew with my pals on Sundays my parents could not attend. I woke up at 5:30 am, mind you I am not a morning person, to drive 20 minutes north to a Wednesday morning bible study. I promise I was never a second late to the 7:55 am start time at my high school. Well, maybe you will have the ask Mr. Akamichi for sure as I was the only fourth year art student in his first block and probably snuck in the back door on a few mornings.
So, moving out on my own to Colorado, I attended Presbyterian churches and eventually joined one when my children were born. I worked in the nursery every other Sunday and immensely enjoyed the Easter egg hunts. Again, that church went through some political issues that made me feel uncomfortable. I felt through this process that the philosophy of the church changed to one that was exclusionary. That was not who I was. It wasn't what I believed. Jesus sat with the prostitutes, the poor, the wretched, and yes, I am sure, those who were gay.
I started to attend Rocky Mountain Christian Church because it was easy. My kids went to school there and it is ten minutes or less from my house. I kept attending because I was welcomed. I was not judged. Every Sunday, I was given a nugget of clay, and it was up to me to mold it. Finally, I found again what I found in high school. I found the voice of God in my heart and a place that said it was okay to trust what it was saying. Oh, yes, sometimes the music is too loud. Sometimes I doze off for a second. Just a second, I promise. Sometimes I miss the old hymnal. And, I hate it when they run out of donut holes. But, nothing is perfect.
I didn't know I would be baptized. The voice spoke. And I was. It is pretty simple, really. To do something as Jesus had done felt comforting, warm, uplifting, and accepting. It felt like love. It felt like the first minute I held each of my children after they were born. I had no idea. I was baptized alone with my family as witnesses because I needed it to be still of emotions and sounds that would distract me from his presence.
For everyone out there, no matter if you are Jewish, Hindu, Unified, Buddhist, Catholic, or Islamic, step forward with God. Yes, I believe our God is one God for everyone. Step forward with whatever ritual, meditation, celebration your teachings offer. Maybe doing so sounds really big and or a little scary. So listen to the God-voice inside of you. (By the way, some call it intuition and others call it listening to signs.) You know when it is right. Step forward and sit on God's chair. You might like it here.
But, let us get back to the question at hand, why did I choose to be baptized? As I listened to the explanation of the history and theology of the church I had been attending, but was not a member of, I learned that it was where I belonged. Basically, they exsist somewere between Presbyterians and Methodist with a little Baptists thrown in the mix. I grew up in a Methodist church in Texas where the pastor looked just like Jesus from the hair to the sadals. During my teen years, we moved to California and joined a Presbyterian church. I was very active in the high school youth group and even sat in the very front pew with my pals on Sundays my parents could not attend. I woke up at 5:30 am, mind you I am not a morning person, to drive 20 minutes north to a Wednesday morning bible study. I promise I was never a second late to the 7:55 am start time at my high school. Well, maybe you will have the ask Mr. Akamichi for sure as I was the only fourth year art student in his first block and probably snuck in the back door on a few mornings.
So, moving out on my own to Colorado, I attended Presbyterian churches and eventually joined one when my children were born. I worked in the nursery every other Sunday and immensely enjoyed the Easter egg hunts. Again, that church went through some political issues that made me feel uncomfortable. I felt through this process that the philosophy of the church changed to one that was exclusionary. That was not who I was. It wasn't what I believed. Jesus sat with the prostitutes, the poor, the wretched, and yes, I am sure, those who were gay.
I started to attend Rocky Mountain Christian Church because it was easy. My kids went to school there and it is ten minutes or less from my house. I kept attending because I was welcomed. I was not judged. Every Sunday, I was given a nugget of clay, and it was up to me to mold it. Finally, I found again what I found in high school. I found the voice of God in my heart and a place that said it was okay to trust what it was saying. Oh, yes, sometimes the music is too loud. Sometimes I doze off for a second. Just a second, I promise. Sometimes I miss the old hymnal. And, I hate it when they run out of donut holes. But, nothing is perfect.
I didn't know I would be baptized. The voice spoke. And I was. It is pretty simple, really. To do something as Jesus had done felt comforting, warm, uplifting, and accepting. It felt like love. It felt like the first minute I held each of my children after they were born. I had no idea. I was baptized alone with my family as witnesses because I needed it to be still of emotions and sounds that would distract me from his presence.
For everyone out there, no matter if you are Jewish, Hindu, Unified, Buddhist, Catholic, or Islamic, step forward with God. Yes, I believe our God is one God for everyone. Step forward with whatever ritual, meditation, celebration your teachings offer. Maybe doing so sounds really big and or a little scary. So listen to the God-voice inside of you. (By the way, some call it intuition and others call it listening to signs.) You know when it is right. Step forward and sit on God's chair. You might like it here.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Act Now
Act. Act now. Decision making is not my best talent. I suppose that is the result of being very accepting of just about everything that doesn't stink or cause harm. There is a list in my head, and now on my LifeRoo site (http://liferoo.com/,) of day dreams of what I want to do in this lifetime, my Life List. Yes, I know, you have all heard it before, I want to write a book. I always have. I have wanted to since my minor in creative writing in college nearly fifteen years ago. The problem with a minor is you never get to the classes that teach you how stop writing and be an author. Or so that is my excuse.
So my problem is I have the inability to execute a decision when it comes to myself. Now, as the Midnight Housewife, we well know I can decide away tasks of motherhood and household management. As an artist, when I am painting, there is no deciding necessary as what I put down on the canvas is a stream of subconsciousness flowing intuitively. And, that is why I like quilting. It is a balance as there is much more deciding in the creative process. With me and what I want to do, however, I can never decide whether it is what car to drive or which side to part my hair. Oh, wait, I don't have hair right now; check that off the list. My Humanness is just fine the way it is.
It was fine until I started realizing I wasn't moving forward. Fear of being wrong kept me here. The irony is that in the last three years, I moved through my cancer journey at a decidedly strong pace. I sought those second opinions. I decided which surgeon would best carry me through my journey and not just cut off my breast and through my sick parts in the trash. I enlisted two oncologist, a yin and a yang. I always insist on the medical assistant of my neurosurgeon look at my MRIs because he has saved my life...twice...with his hawk eyes. I never gave up yoga even when my body was weak. And, I found a new love for running outside that is oddly inspirational whether it is the endorphins, rocking to fun tunes, or the fresh air, I can't decide. So why then, is my Life List, as simple as it is, seem like Mt. Everest?
This afternoon, after church, I sat and listened to Pastor Allen and his wife discuss the journey of the church at an information luncheon about church membership. I think it is the slightly odd analogies that totally mirror my own that brought me to a decision today. There was an animated analogy about sitting in a chair simply because we said it was a chair, trust, and why we believe. There was something about being in the middle of something...oh forget it...I can't remember. There was another one about imagining life without a member of your body, say a thumb. No make that a leg, eye, ear. It is how all our members of our body work together that give us our Humanness. The analogy referred to church membership.
I have been attending Rocky Mountain Christian Church since about 2007. My former church, of which I was a member and was married through, became a place I no longer felt comfortable. So I started attending the church services where my kiddos went to preschool. I loved the sermons which moved me to cry on a regular basis. But, the baptisms by immersion sort of freaked me out. I am not really sure why, so don't ask. So I am hearing about the baptisms and how that is what you do to become a member of this Christian body when I decided I would be baptized again (my parents baptized me as an infant in the Methodist church.) There was one thing, I needed it to be my personal thing, not in front of the congregation on a Sunday morning. Call me shy or just understand that my spirituality is a personal one which I protect quietly in my heart and shine out to others through my hugs, smiles, and charity.
At the end of the luncheon, even though I knew my kiddos would be climbing the walls of the nursery that smelled like poopy diapers that they were sequestered to, I asked if I could be baptized by myself. After some arranging, picking up my kiddos, and calling my parents to come as soon as they could manage, I was baptized in a warm bath. I cried. It made sense. I took a step that was so simple so that I could move forward. And, I understood the reason the baptisms on Sunday mornings freaked me out. I am humble before my Lord. For me, doing this in front of a bunch of people would feel like a performance. I would be nervous. I would be fearful of doing it wrong. But, with my family as a witness, I was comforted in my humbleness. My true emotions would not be masked by the human reaction to publicness.
"Those who believed...were baptized...that day." (Acts 2:41)
Being baptized today is about being a member of a Christian Body. It is more. I promise myself to stop daydreaming and talking about my Life List and decide to move forward. I either put my money where my mouth is or scratch it off the list. Don't worry, Mom, sky diving and climbing Mt. Everest were scratched off a really long time ago. I sat for five years in those pews of RMCC trying to decide if I should join. Today, I decided. Tomorrow, I will paint. I will walk in the morning if it is warm or yoga if it is windy, even if my body feels exhausted. Yes, this I decided. Now, as hard as it may be, I will act...act now.
So my problem is I have the inability to execute a decision when it comes to myself. Now, as the Midnight Housewife, we well know I can decide away tasks of motherhood and household management. As an artist, when I am painting, there is no deciding necessary as what I put down on the canvas is a stream of subconsciousness flowing intuitively. And, that is why I like quilting. It is a balance as there is much more deciding in the creative process. With me and what I want to do, however, I can never decide whether it is what car to drive or which side to part my hair. Oh, wait, I don't have hair right now; check that off the list. My Humanness is just fine the way it is.
It was fine until I started realizing I wasn't moving forward. Fear of being wrong kept me here. The irony is that in the last three years, I moved through my cancer journey at a decidedly strong pace. I sought those second opinions. I decided which surgeon would best carry me through my journey and not just cut off my breast and through my sick parts in the trash. I enlisted two oncologist, a yin and a yang. I always insist on the medical assistant of my neurosurgeon look at my MRIs because he has saved my life...twice...with his hawk eyes. I never gave up yoga even when my body was weak. And, I found a new love for running outside that is oddly inspirational whether it is the endorphins, rocking to fun tunes, or the fresh air, I can't decide. So why then, is my Life List, as simple as it is, seem like Mt. Everest?
This afternoon, after church, I sat and listened to Pastor Allen and his wife discuss the journey of the church at an information luncheon about church membership. I think it is the slightly odd analogies that totally mirror my own that brought me to a decision today. There was an animated analogy about sitting in a chair simply because we said it was a chair, trust, and why we believe. There was something about being in the middle of something...oh forget it...I can't remember. There was another one about imagining life without a member of your body, say a thumb. No make that a leg, eye, ear. It is how all our members of our body work together that give us our Humanness. The analogy referred to church membership.
I have been attending Rocky Mountain Christian Church since about 2007. My former church, of which I was a member and was married through, became a place I no longer felt comfortable. So I started attending the church services where my kiddos went to preschool. I loved the sermons which moved me to cry on a regular basis. But, the baptisms by immersion sort of freaked me out. I am not really sure why, so don't ask. So I am hearing about the baptisms and how that is what you do to become a member of this Christian body when I decided I would be baptized again (my parents baptized me as an infant in the Methodist church.) There was one thing, I needed it to be my personal thing, not in front of the congregation on a Sunday morning. Call me shy or just understand that my spirituality is a personal one which I protect quietly in my heart and shine out to others through my hugs, smiles, and charity.
At the end of the luncheon, even though I knew my kiddos would be climbing the walls of the nursery that smelled like poopy diapers that they were sequestered to, I asked if I could be baptized by myself. After some arranging, picking up my kiddos, and calling my parents to come as soon as they could manage, I was baptized in a warm bath. I cried. It made sense. I took a step that was so simple so that I could move forward. And, I understood the reason the baptisms on Sunday mornings freaked me out. I am humble before my Lord. For me, doing this in front of a bunch of people would feel like a performance. I would be nervous. I would be fearful of doing it wrong. But, with my family as a witness, I was comforted in my humbleness. My true emotions would not be masked by the human reaction to publicness.
"Those who believed...were baptized...that day." (Acts 2:41)
Being baptized today is about being a member of a Christian Body. It is more. I promise myself to stop daydreaming and talking about my Life List and decide to move forward. I either put my money where my mouth is or scratch it off the list. Don't worry, Mom, sky diving and climbing Mt. Everest were scratched off a really long time ago. I sat for five years in those pews of RMCC trying to decide if I should join. Today, I decided. Tomorrow, I will paint. I will walk in the morning if it is warm or yoga if it is windy, even if my body feels exhausted. Yes, this I decided. Now, as hard as it may be, I will act...act now.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
I have been asked why I stopped writing. Well, I stopped because I was afraid of all the ugliness that it would be unearthed. And, it did. I sat down to write on the eve of my third anniversary of cancer life, and it hurt. So here I am still awake trying to get cancer out of my brain, literally. As I lay a awake in bed listening to the rest of the house breathing, I muffled my sobs. I thought, what has been the worst moment of this whole thing? Heck, there are a lot of candidates. But, the worst moment was the night I found out I had a metassis to my liver. My cell phone rang just as we were dressing to go to a family dinner at the Outback for my birthday. I went to the porch to talk. Just as I was hanging up the phone, my father-in-law pulled up in his 4 Runner. I decided that moment I wouldn't tell anyone tonight. But, he knew something wasn't right with me. So I told him and told him to keep it to himself tonight. Just then the family came out to get in the car. I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and smiled. I couldn't look at Larry as we sat there at a table for seven. I felt sick in my stomach as I blow out my candle on the complementary sundea and the thought crossed my mind that this maybe the lasT birthday I have. When the meal was over, my parents took the kids back to wash their hands. I took Scott outside and told him about the phone call. Why would I pick this to be the worst day? Well, that was the day stage two became stage four, in curable.
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