tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11655594152686095342012-01-27T11:00:19.425-05:00THOUGHTS FROM AN ORDINARY PROPHET seeking to promote loving, laughing, noticing and savoring!spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.comBlogger621100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-50421277177969802742012-01-26T19:00:00.000-05:002012-01-27T11:00:03.160-05:00

       From the moment they met, Massey snubbed Zsa Zsa. He was not swayed by her cuteness, had no compassion for her travel weariness, her fears over ending up in this strange place separated from her siblings. He refused to acknowledge her presence.  He is selfish, willful and wants attention.  He reminds me of myself on really bad days!  Thankfully, he doesn’t hold a grudge forever.  If I give

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-70726948687346438852012-01-14T10:19:00.000-05:002012-01-14T11:13:25.706-05:00

Hope is….. ….the first cry of a precious newborn babe. ….an early morning walk in white, thick mist where only an impression of the        rising sun exists.  My soul feels the sun’s warmth before my eyes see        proof.    ….definitely a thing with feathers.   Especially red bird feathers! ….poetry, songs, laments. …a Jack Russell keeping vigil on the window sill awaiting his

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-49734596068416989002011-12-19T13:49:00.001-05:002012-01-14T11:13:56.920-05:00

A Different Kind  of Waiting… Advent this year held a very differing kind of waiting.   This waiting did not take place in a softly lit sanctuary with candles and beautiful visuals.   My sisters and I experienced waiting by my mother’s bedside as she began the dying process.  And then, after her death we waited for family to arrive to celebrate her life and our memories.   Advent anticipates

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-67705154236588705102011-10-11T11:48:00.000-04:002011-10-11T11:48:42.167-04:00

Images My spirit sings this morning through images. As I cut and paste chickadees chirp, hop above me like tiny cheerleaders. A squirrel scolds. I nod to the bushy-tailed creature. "Sorry. Perhaps today I'm your invitation to deal with irritation." The smell of incense colors the air. I've reverently pinned my pettiness and ungratefulness onto the sweet stick before lighting the match. 

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-4671906555138370552011-09-06T08:24:00.000-04:002011-09-29T13:01:33.011-04:00

  Nothing to Lose But Our Illusions The above is not my title.  I found it in an advertisement flyer for the The SUN magazine. The title belongs to Derrick Jensen interviewing David Edwards.  Here is segment of interview -    Edwards: Once you start to see through the myth of status, possessions, and unlimited consumption as a path to happiness, you'll find that you have all kinds of

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-17562650934131850812010-10-23T19:18:00.000-04:002010-10-23T19:18:29.878-04:00

Every morning, for the last month, I see Dad's Braun shaver on my bathroom shelf.  When my siblings went through Dad's personal items, my husband, Jay, requested the shaver. We put it beside our stack of bathroom towels, knowing it needed cleaning before using or storing, but neither of us doing the job.  There it stayed a daily reminder of Dad.     Immediately after his death, each glance of

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-91866129843176373992010-10-14T16:36:00.001-04:002010-10-15T06:55:13.345-04:00

There is a hush outside this morning. No bird chatter. Even squirrels stop their relentless gathering to ponder the gray canopy above. Bright streaks on the eastern horizon fade as grasses cling to single sparkles of dew. The countryside waits for rain. Last week, I leaned into my car to retrieve something and rose too quickly smacking my head soundly on the way up. I automatically rubbed my

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-88900532743308488472010-09-15T08:41:00.000-04:002010-09-15T08:41:17.262-04:00

                                                   Legacy My aging fathersadly said good bye to gardeninghanding me brown- skinned treasures;his knobby hands cradletuberous bulbs. His smile promises striking orange-pink.                                         I plant, watching green bladesgrow broad and abundant… year after year, lovely thick clumps with no blooms.I wonder if Dad holds the

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-15223262503785245862010-07-12T11:05:00.000-04:002010-07-12T11:05:32.081-04:00

A cardinal calls from high in the Silver Maple the sound delicate and musical. Uncaring, or competing, our golden banty rooster awkwardly flap-flies to the top of a fence post. His position is at least eight feet lower than the cardinal, but high enough for morning cockiness in surveying his kingdom. Fat black hens cluck and scratch below salvaging fallen seed from the bird feeder. Banty Boy

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-1581310734363164772010-05-25T20:15:00.000-04:002010-05-25T20:15:30.189-04:00

As you can tell, I haven't been blogging.  Not sure when I'll return...there is much happening in my life: hubby's job changed (which amazingly changes everything!), other writing projects, my own joyful immersion in spring and my gardens, and some things I'd rather not 'be with' but life happens and I do my best to accept. Until we meet here again... Joyfully, Sharon If the sight of the blue

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-37863828702124151832010-03-25T09:36:00.000-04:002010-03-25T09:36:38.582-04:00

Earth. Rushing water. Blueys. I walk down the gravel path beside the swollen creek, sneakers crunching, heart beating, my soul lost in the song of the morning. The sun warms my cheek as my eyes drink in the cache of tiny blue flowers blooming along the creek bank. Others delight in robins as heralds of spring; I look for ‘blueys’, a wild variety of figwort or speedwell that I affectionately

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-45761737622221151942010-03-22T17:47:00.003-04:002010-03-22T20:16:22.934-04:00

For the last few months I’ve drawn, painted or colored a mandala each week. Wikipedia says: “Mandalas are a generic term for any plan, chart or geometric pattern that represents the cosmos metaphysically or symbolically, a microcosm of the Universe from the human perspective.” I use mandalas as a way of connecting to my soul, to hear God in fresh ways, to stimulate my right brain, and to just

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-10431721782965551212010-02-26T11:35:00.001-05:002010-02-26T11:36:36.322-05:00

Today is my dad’s birthday. I celebrate his life, his providing for me when I was dependant, and the play-on-my-name question he used to tease me with as a youngster: “Sharon, will you share your joy?” I’m amazed at how this question has quietly shaped my life. I try to walk humbly. Bumbly may be more accurate, as I lovingly but rather absent-mindedly and with much failure, find my way through

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-87778272718829612102010-02-02T23:15:00.000-05:002010-02-02T23:15:36.035-05:00

  This blog started as a way of writing my way through lymphoma diagnosis and treatment. A year later, my blogging includes stuff about my dog, garden, grand children, life in general. I wonder if I need a new focus.  This silly title draws me: Thoughts From an Ordinary Prophet. I looked up the word prophet. None of the definitions are my intention. However, I could possibly see myself as a

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-78323963441449569572009-12-23T18:57:00.001-05:002009-12-23T18:58:21.974-05:00

Still, Still, Still Early this morning, I went for a walk. These cold wintry days I usually wait until the afternoon to don scarf and walking boots, but by then I’m exhausted and need a nap. My disappointed dog, Carey, sleeps on the floor during naps, sighing, waiting for me to wake up. When I finally drag myself out, the walk is more obligation than joy. This morning the temperature is in

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-75739404423705854752009-12-11T21:44:00.000-05:002009-12-11T21:44:09.305-05:00

I lay on the floor beside 2yr old granddaughter, Avery, watching her breathe. She is asleep, tucked into a little makeshift bed beside Nana’s big bed. She is unaware of the changes happening in her life at this very moment. No matter how much doting parents prepare the way for a new baby’s arrival, there are always surprising adjustments for the older sibling. As I mull these thoughts around,

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-43988426293161280842009-11-10T07:19:00.006-05:002009-11-10T07:47:21.678-05:00

I left for the weekend, my garden bursting with summer's cardinal flowers, impatiens, and geraniums. Autumn colors of gold and rust mixed with delicate red and pink Mandeville buds. I returned home to find a slaughtering frost had transformed masses of colorful flowering plants into wilted piles of dull green.Today, I decide to say goodbye to summer's fecundity by ceremoniously unwinding the

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-12091402867865309062009-11-05T10:10:00.000-05:002009-11-05T10:11:21.351-05:00

Autumn brings to mind cornfields, street fairs, sheep shows, leaf piles, apple crisp and golden sugar maples. And, it’s the name of my favorite autumn plant – Sedum Autumn Joy. I bought the plant on name alone, but soon fell in love with the flowers of this sedum especially the slow, gorgeous transformation from pink, to crimson, to deep rust as summer transitions into autumn. As I enjoy my

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-81324874641567636762009-10-10T10:39:00.012-04:002009-10-10T11:04:09.458-04:00

I’m under the weather; it’s raining, and I’m sick. My friends have gone on a ‘women’s day out’ without me. I’m tempted to feel blue, so I’m dedicating this whole day to loving kindness. First, I shower my sick and disappointed self with compassion, in the form of hot tea and reflection. If I give my emotions some genuine attention, they often release quickly. Second, I sit in meditation,

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-18671993608761927342009-09-28T08:51:00.014-04:002009-09-28T19:51:42.005-04:00

The Morning Glory vine is blooming! I've waited all summer for this glorious display. The smaller vine growing down the fence erupted in blossom soon after planting, while this first plant became all leaf and curly tendril. I'm grateful for the smaller plant's eager blossoms, but this huge, heavy vine blooming now, in late September, deeply touches me.Through out the summer, I trimmed the

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-30283995775478457942009-08-19T10:05:00.001-04:002009-08-19T10:08:54.054-04:00

Idle and BlessedThe phrase “idle and blessed’ from Mary Oliver’s poem The Summer Day keeps popping into my mind, perhaps because I’m living to a different rhythm these days. I’m savoring each day’s gifts: the sprinkling of goose bumps when I sense a small miracle happening, the twirl of joy when Jay comes down the walk, the pungent odor of sparring goat bucks, the curl of my granddaughter’s

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-10134804919901140152009-07-16T12:52:00.003-04:002009-07-16T12:56:18.538-04:00

A fresh summer day. Time renewed. In the silence of the morning, time is not relevant. My soul blooms along with lemon lilies, and deep red Mandeville flowers. God dawns with the sun, floats above earth in white cloudy puffs, experiences life through me, through you, through upright lupines, nodding petunias and glowing fireflies. Creation explodes anew every day. I abide in Joy and Joy abides

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-31222225570609733262009-06-26T09:55:00.004-04:002009-06-26T11:41:44.758-04:00

Yesterday, I stepped off the porch and my good ankle gave out. Who expects to be striding confidently one moment and collapsing in a heap in the next? I went down gasping and bewildered, neither my fall nor my thoughts were graceful. Limping, I headed inside for the recliner, grabbing an ice bag and arnica cream along the way.What kind of klutzy fool sprains an ankle walking off a porch? How

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-2669182394145462962009-06-15T19:56:00.005-04:002009-06-15T21:39:04.639-04:00

I’m well on the road to recovery, feeling good, growing hair, loving life. I love sitting outside in the early morning, feeling grateful the winter is over and so is the time of sitting inside looking out, recovering from chemo. The spring seemed so far away back then! In honor of spring and hope, I wrote this earlier today:“This morning is soft and silky, with the sun muted behind kitten gray

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-23388357689608906552009-05-25T16:10:00.010-04:002009-05-25T16:44:49.627-04:00

5-25-09Last Sunday, family and friends surprised me with a party celebrating my cancer remission status and my graduation from Kairos School of Spiritual Formation in May, despite going through chemo. I am humbled and overwhelmed by the love and support of so many dear people in my life. I am so blessed by all the cards, gifts, weeping cherry tree and red twig dogwood I received. I had wanted a

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-8269211302680055082009-05-15T16:04:00.002-04:002009-05-15T16:06:09.625-04:00

A cardinal sings every day. His song follows me around where ever I am, inside or outside. Red birds are a strong symbol of God’s presence for me. This one is special since we seldom have cardinals come to our bird feeders. A cardinal coming and staying is a miracle! I’m so grateful for this precious gift, this scarlet show of Love and Presence.I’m in the midst of many transitions. Chemo is over;

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-506058160798967652009-05-05T08:18:00.010-04:002009-05-05T14:47:30.365-04:00

I graduated from Kairos School of Spiritual Formation last weekend!! Since the weekend came during my time of lowered white cell counts, and with flu going around, I decided to forgo all the congratulatory hugging and kissing after class. Instead, I presented my friends with pens and they decorated my head. Enjoy the photos!Instant bangs!Yes, I’m in the midst of endings: end to five years as a

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-84639771207159988412009-04-29T10:33:00.001-04:002009-04-29T10:37:14.763-04:00

Did the Affirmations Work? And Other Answers My foot is not stress fractured and I am overjoyed! It is a pleasure to walk with two feet, however gingerly.Yes, the affirmations did make a difference. Most side effects have lessened except for neuropathy (nerve damage) in my fingers and toes, causing numbness, tingling, burning. Otherwise, I have good energy, especially when I pace myself and

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-60666560325022769162009-04-28T15:11:00.004-04:002009-04-28T15:14:26.159-04:00

This morning, I get my foot x-rayed again. Pulling a T-shirt over my head wipes off the smear of sweat already glistening on my bald head. It feels like 70 degrees in my bedroom, yet stuffy weather is nothing compared to prednisone withdrawal hot sweats I’ve been tossing in bed with all night. My mirrored reflection shows joy, not irritation; this is the last prednisone sweat I’ll be enduring!

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-89793568191229018862009-04-22T15:49:00.002-04:002009-04-22T15:54:09.597-04:00

Woohoooo…six rounds of chemo are finished! The nurses sang and showered me with confetti while unhooking my IV lines. They surprised me with their funny 'end of chemo' song. One nurse cried when I told her my next goal is to get in shape enough to climb a rock wall. (small rock wall...indoors :) Not sure if I inspired her to tears or if she thought, ‘yeah right’ at the sight of me on crutches,

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-1566857597688473622009-04-14T20:27:00.012-04:002009-04-16T14:52:51.688-04:00

I'm bored and need some good cheer, so I'm rereading my gratitude journal from last year. I found this entry from April 2008:Today I'm grateful for flowering weeds, a gossamer cloud of delicate white flowers bursting from the brown earth on thread-thin stems, like lacy pins on a cushion. Tiny points of beauty, so breathtaking, so easy to miss. I smile when stepping over goose, fox and deer

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-72736243007860116052009-04-08T17:20:00.003-04:002009-04-08T17:26:43.451-04:00

I’m watching old M*A*S*H reruns, eating bowls of soup and rotating the heating pad where ever my bones most need some warmth. As I warm my achy bones, I hope the earth is warming too; the sugar pea seeds I planted still haven’t poked though the ground. While I wait for peas, it’s lovely to watch cherry tomatoes forming in our indoor AreoGarden. I shake the plants regularly to scatter pollen

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-10303103545410224012009-03-29T12:58:00.010-04:002009-04-02T06:13:32.751-04:00

I don’t know about your life, but mine gets more unpredictable as I get older. It must be part of some cosmic plan, life teaching us to let go of this demand or that attachment as we prepare to leave this earth. Not that I’m ready to leave this earth, but I’m more aware of how little it takes to make me content these days. It is quite a grace, a gift from God to be able to flow with life in the

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-50585269073576562292009-03-09T12:04:00.008-04:002009-03-09T13:21:03.914-04:00

I am so full, God. Full, like hands carrying elusive water, cupping, holding, tickling wetness, leaking through fingers. Full, like an expanding balloon, stretched taunt, holding… holding, yet longing for explosion. Full, like a sky filled with stars, crystal glitter against lush darkness, seeing can’t take it all in. Full of depth, emotion, wonder, embracing, resisting,

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-38362372386259176172009-03-06T17:14:00.004-05:002009-03-06T21:42:55.282-05:00

I love gifts. The earth is an incredible gift. I especially love birds, from colorful parrots to starlings fighting over suet. Yesterday, I enjoyed seeing ribbons of snow geese swirling and curling against the blue sky above our corn field, thousands of black-tipped white bodies moving with one mind. While it’s harder for me to find the gift in being stuck indoors, I can find treasures

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-67852007096251798382009-03-03T17:45:00.000-05:002009-03-03T17:46:49.444-05:00

At midnight, the ER doc asks me if I’m ready to go home. I did not have neutropenic fever. With no infections found, white cell count good enough to fight whatever is causing my fever, and after consulting Dr. DeGreen Jr. the ER doctor says when my IV fluid bag is empty, I can go home. Jay and I glance at the half full bag and simultaneously stifle a groan, both instantly calculating the hours

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-24118125923166224282009-03-02T14:38:00.005-05:002009-03-02T14:44:22.204-05:00

The ER is bustling, as usual. After taking my info, I am asked to sit and wait until a bed is ready. I sit, wishing I brought a mask for germ protection, as I watch a man walk in and not make it through registry before suddenly throwing up into a waste can. The receptionist rushes to get him a pan. I find it incredibly ironic to be sent to a hospital emergency room because I might have a low

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-90299985854392150502009-03-01T14:40:00.008-05:002009-03-01T16:30:49.609-05:00

Once again, I write. It’s been a long, tiring week, so if this blog ends abruptly I may have simply nodded off. I feel cheated out of a few good days. I got used to ten good days each chemo cycle. My peevishness makes me want my regular life back. I’m torn by conflicting desires: accepting what I can’t change and needing to gripe. I can take my lumps, the crap that comes with chemo, but

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-87304213121668575162009-02-24T17:12:00.005-05:002009-02-24T17:19:00.990-05:00

I just received an email today saying a magazine accepted a short piece of my writing for publishing. I’ve been submitting for a long time, with not many positive results, so I celebrate this morale boost coming on a day I’m too tired to get up from the recliner or turn the heating pad off. I wrote and submitted the article last Friday, while prednisone still circulated in my blood. I felt

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-74303191471973200482009-02-20T11:46:00.006-05:002009-02-20T11:55:55.917-05:00

I'm being carried. By prayer, flowers, cards, lovingkindness, good thoughts, detox baths and lymph support supplements. By the wonderful cancer center, science, my body's desire to be well, by God's boundless grace. I have nothing to give in return except my own lovingkindness sent forward into the world, and my inadequate gratitude. ~~~Inadequate Gratitude Wish I could scoop handfuls of

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-14244096906192599122009-02-19T13:14:00.003-05:002009-02-19T21:09:56.548-05:00

This morning I wake up tired and grouchy. Still in my pjs, I stumble past the kitchen island, seeing my placemat full of meds and supplements arranged in order of swallowing: morning, afternoon, evening, between meals, on an empty stomach. The sight irritates me. Not even the east window brings cheer. I see no beauty outside, snow, or colors of sunrise, just dreary fog. I grumble to God. "

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-81495335405979116852009-02-16T09:13:00.010-05:002009-02-17T06:37:01.716-05:00

Here's a good morning quote from the book- "same kind a different like me" by Ron Hall and Denver MooreRon: "Why are you so happy?"Denver: "I woke up!"I'm happy today; I woke up! Outside my window there is a long, rosy spike of light shooting straight up through the heavens in sharp contrast to the dark blue clouds above the horizon. An amazing entrance of the sun into this glorious day!I begin

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-49436333978236129512009-02-14T16:40:00.004-05:002009-02-15T17:02:19.730-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day to all!Feeling superb today! I never thought I'd be saying this but Jay and I enjoyed mopping our floors and cleaning the bathrooms! We took in a movie after the house cleaning, then I took a nice, long walk and ate some chocolate. (one piece) Having the energy to clean, and take a walk is almost miraculous, as is seeing a beautiful red cardinal and a blue bird on the same

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-5133860037061415542009-02-12T07:23:00.004-05:002009-02-12T07:52:01.249-05:00

Today is beautiful; the BEST day of my life! The sunrise is stunning. The wind is blowing; I love a windy day. This day holds much promise of joy and Presence. I'm soon off to see Gail, the nutritionist. I'm hoping she takes me off Goldenseal and Stillingia.If she does, this will be the best day of my life! I will celebrate so loudly the whole earth may hear.I enjoyed a long walk in the warm

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-64513966098656765002009-02-10T07:31:00.006-05:002009-02-10T11:06:11.315-05:00

No writings for the last few days. I felt poorly and didn't write; then I felt good and was too busy to write! Oops, I lie. I need to use 'blog' instead of 'write'. I can't keep from writing. Words build in me until they erupt. My journals catch my eruptions. I remind myself to blog.~~~I was raised to be cautious about drugs, about any artificial means to health. I was fed greens, taken to the

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-37370403998847179992009-02-06T06:51:00.006-05:002009-02-06T08:17:06.084-05:00

Second round of chemo hit me harder, but I'm happy to report recovery was faster. That said, I confess to some unpleasant feelings when I hear: 'You're young and strong and will breeze right through this." or "I'm so glad you're sailing through it and not getting desperately ill like my friend (or mother, or father, or sister, or co-worker).People love a good horror story. And they love comparing

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-12709557718864362009-02-04T09:17:00.006-05:002009-02-04T09:24:38.982-05:00

The historic, chocolate-loving, quaint town of Lititz woke up to a foot of snow this morning! The heavy, soft kind that hugs trees and bushes, clings on roofs, and hushes the world before plows and shovels come out. Predicted flurries turned into a real snow! A vision worthy of Jay taking my hand at two in the morning, after we passed in the bathroom hall, he pulls me to the window, pointing,

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-78378690342079484622009-02-03T14:41:00.002-05:002009-02-03T14:57:53.517-05:00

CELEBRATE LIFE!!Isn’t life grand? Don’t you just want to throw open your arms and celebrate?Reasons I celebrate:1. I can live fully right now! Isn’t that amazing? I don’t have to wait the bone pain stops, or until April when the chemo is done, or when the cancer is in remission. I can live fully now. Present, alive, aware, grateful! How cool is that? Sure, I visualize all the things I’ll be able

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-66249287117854545062009-02-02T09:03:00.003-05:002009-02-02T14:20:42.497-05:00

Tired. Oh, so tired.The red spiral-bound tracker notebook mocks me from the table. Or the empty space on the chart for today does. I ignore it, but my pencil itches to check off the space. This wonder of organization, a gift from the cancer center, has become my life. People like me, compulsive about notebooks and check lists, should give off warning vibes so fine institutions with good

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-33439108952096546962009-01-31T11:27:00.001-05:002009-01-31T11:29:45.882-05:00

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-17065814724596413792009-01-31T08:34:00.013-05:002009-02-01T21:21:13.072-05:00

This is recovery week. As expected, I'm not feeling so great. I'm congested, blistery, tongue and throat hurt, swallowing is difficult. Voice is hoarse; talking and eating are not pleasant, but the prednisone makes me hungry, so I am getting calories ingested. My wonderful hubby makes shakes and smoothies that go down well. Meds have prevented thrush so at least I don't have that added misery.

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-18189357235014018082009-01-29T13:34:00.009-05:002009-10-18T16:59:29.352-04:00

My tongue, throat and hair cells are dying along with the cancer cells. Some good things have to be sacrificed along with the bad things. It reminds me, oddly, of love. When one chooses to live open and unguarded, surrendered to Love, a few walls of defense need to come down. Like seeing beyond physical beauty. Seeing the spirit glowing rather than the face. Not that I ever thought myself

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-90106471826244597102009-01-28T11:28:00.005-05:002009-01-28T12:01:38.705-05:00

Two chemo treatments down; four to go!! It took six hours yesterday, another long day. And another 'sledgehammer' dose. With R-CHOP, I get five different support drugs. The combination makes me sleepy, headachey, with dull,watering eyes so I sleep most of the time. The mediport is wonderful! The big port needle gave me pause, but didn't hurt as bad as the skinny needles going in a hand vein. I

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-85603094965351661152009-01-27T07:19:00.001-05:002009-01-27T07:21:51.385-05:00

Tuesday, January 27, 2009 Chemo Day #2I awaken from a deep sleep, rub my eyes, automatically scratch my itchy head, surprised when fingers touch a soft hat instead of hair. I love these moments of precious oblivion! I am not sad when reality hits; rather I smile over the gift of forgetfulness, no longer berating myself for such absent-mindedness. When reality comes, it comes with a tinge of

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-20729992741051145562009-01-25T09:42:00.002-05:002009-01-25T09:46:31.837-05:00

Mom,I wrote this yesterday, I hope it doesn't make you sad.Love you,Steph January 24, 2009 She asks me to,I say ‘okay’,Stand behind, clippers in hand,Looking at her hair, short but still there.‘It will feel better when it’s gone’She says bravely.I flip the switch,the clipper hums to life,A path of stubble left behind,As the hair falls around her shoulders.‘Save some pieces’ she says,I gather

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-63761427587217711072009-01-24T16:03:00.009-05:002009-01-25T07:14:51.870-05:00

It’s official. I’m bald now, except for the prick of stubble Stephanie’s clippers left on my head. Jay cheerfully documented the clipping and I almost cried after looking at the digital photos. I did see square this time, maybe not a square head, but definitely a square jaw with more wrinkles than I thought I possessed. The image was a bit much and won’t be publicly shared. Not yet. I’m not THAT

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-54348504020525804882009-01-21T07:59:00.004-05:002009-01-21T17:02:21.439-05:00

1-21-09 GrouchyI'm grouchy today. Woke up irritable, fighting a cold, worrying I'll get sick and the next chemo will be put off. Not that I want chemo, I just don't want delays in the schedule. I foolishly circled the finish date of this round of chemo on my April calendar page. How dumb could I be, setting myself up for inevitable disappointment? I live on a farm, and raised four children for

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-66804350506678455012009-01-19T14:15:00.002-05:002009-01-19T16:09:18.738-05:00

1-19-09 Lovely Sunrise, Manna, Nasty Tincture6a.m. I sit on my rocking chair, in my indoor sanctuary, surrounded by flowers, peace plant, dish garden, poinsettias, and the soft unfolding sunrise beyond my window. The glow of candle light gently touches the wooden stars lined up on the table beside me. Stars bear the names of loved ones I'm holding with me in this sacred time of stillness. The

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-27320265218028629222009-01-18T08:53:00.002-05:002009-01-18T08:57:04.521-05:00

Sunday, 1-18-09I'm feeling great today. No pain, just a touch of fatigue. I share this darker moment with you; easily shared when I'm strong. Joyfully,SharonJournal entry 1-10-09 (five days after first chemo treatment)My life flows on in endless songAmid my body's lamentations,I hear the sweet though far off hymnThat hails a new creation:Through all the tumult and the strifeI hear the music

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-12370155619786836142009-01-17T07:47:00.006-05:002009-01-17T08:06:28.984-05:00

Friday, 1-16-09 Guinea Pig DreamI woke at 4am with a smile. I dreamed I was in a friend's house that had pet guinea pigs. The pigs roamed at will, darting from under sofas, squealing and grunting along the base boards. Piles of guinea pig food pellets and pretzels adorned the kitchen floor. Everything was neat and tidy, except for the mounds of pig edibles. I wasn't exactly appalled, but I was

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-39205466657722330782009-01-16T11:30:00.005-05:002009-01-29T19:14:13.058-05:00

Humm..all the weight loss isn't so obvious without hair. :)

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1165559415268609534.post-31498560096026449532009-01-14T20:06:00.004-05:002009-01-15T08:50:17.002-05:00

1-14-09 Eight Days After First "R-CHOP" Chemo TreatmentIsn't 'R-CHOP" an awful acronym? It stands for the chemicals in my chemo cocktail, and it keeps popping into my head at odd moments. When I settle down into my pillow at night there it is, flashing across my mind like a rote childhood prayer. In the middle of a movie, or a good laugh, suddenly I think "R-CHOP". Is it trying to define me,

spiritsonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03996959287041945425noreply@blogger.com5