dropping a note

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 fairly strong over the weekend and by Sunday afternoon, I had to pace myself while walking the dogs to avoid overdoing it. My throat was so raw I couldn’t talk, or eat anything other than soup and protein shakes, but I could walk, catch up on housework, and write. I felt good!

Monday, the prednisone ran out. I plummeted fast into extreme fatigue, increasing anemia, light headedness, hot flashes, sleepiness, moodiness and low blood sugar swings. Its humbling how much easier it is to be optimistic while on steroids! While my body careens out of balance this week, I will celebrate good things happening while experiencing bad things.

It took me all day to write this blog. I feel pathetic and humble, but the effort helped me focus on things other than my discomfort. As Richard Rohr says, “everything belongs’.

Joyfully,
Sharon

Carried!

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 glistening dew

and scatter the sparkles inside

or drape garlands of stars over doorways.


Wish I could capture delicious scents,

to perfume poverty and sadness

with jasmine, fresh rain, a crisp autumn day.


Wish I could spin the soulful trust of a puppy,

the quiet splendor of a misty morning,

and weave them into a beautiful tapestry.


Alas, all I have are my modest words,

my little soul, my limited heart,

my inadequate bursts of gratitude.


I pray my offering expands as you receive

and becomes the wideness of the sky,

the freedom of a playful breeze,


the beat of a thousand hearts united

in a song of devotion,

souls soaked in grace, feasting on Love

Grouchy and Grateful

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. "Don't I deserve a sun rise? I'm going through enough, don't you think?"

Play your recording.

I don't want to play my recording, but God's tender understanding moves me to find the mini recorder. I sink into the rocking chair, pulling on headphones. I listen with closed eyes.

On the eve of the third chemo treatment, I recorded prayers, poetry, songs, words of encouragement and verses from cards people have sent me, my favorite Psalms, visualizations of playing with Avery, hiking –healthy and strong, Emmanuel wrapping me in a circle of Love with Creator, and Sacred Spirit. And, sandwiched between those entries, I spoke visualizations of healing from cancer. I imagined white cells dividing, red blood cells multiplying, guinea piggish cancer cells melting, running away, rainbow colors protecting my body organs from chemo damage, stars and moon beams lining my digestive system and throat with healing and protection. I recorded any crazy, comforting thing that came to mind.

In stillness, wrapped in the prayers of family and friends, warmed by shawls, receiving God’s love, I listen and open my heart. My recorded voice sounds strong, encouraging, full of love. I am moved to tears at the strangeness of Spirit using my own voice to touch me.

I sluggishly move on into the day, open a lovely email from a friend, struggle through yoga, and rejoice when the sun comes out. The blue sky nourishes me. Jay makes bacon for breakfast. Rosey drops off organic vegetables she picked up for me. I go with her to visit my mom who lives in an Alzheimer’s unit. I haven’t seen mom for two months. I feel a small shiver of anxiety. I’m gentle with myself, suddenly knowing the clouds of the morning might be as much internal as outside fog. Will mom know me? Will she be startled by my hat, my flushed red chemo cheeks? Mom sleeps through my visit. I’m sad and relieved. Life is so peculiar, so precious.

Nothing helps me more than listing God connections, gratitudes, hints of red:

Another mystery! Royer’s delivered a handful of gorgeous sunflowers. Ah, sunshine and summer in a vase! The card wasn’t signed.

Four different laxatives worked; glory be!

I had ten well days last cycle- three more than before. God is carrying me.

Mary Jane gave me a wonderful CD.

Ginger crocheted beautiful hats for me.

The sky is blue.

My cactus is budding inside; snow drops are blooming outside!

Jeanette sent me a box of clothes.

I found an outfit to wear with Mim’s aqua scarf.

Becky sent me hand-made red heart earrings. Beautiful!

Dot taught me how to make better veggie juice.

Four laxatives worked!!

Carol gave me a lovely children’s book.

Elizabeth rearranged my knickknacks to make room for the AeroGarden. I find angels and candles in different places and I’m filled with joy!

Sylvia sent me a box with notes and an unfolding nest of scarves. Unwrapping was like a treasure hunt.

From sunrise to sunset the sky speaks love to me.

I’m alive!

Laverne called me yesterday.

Magnificent clouds remind me of all creation; wind and chimes remind me of Spirit blowing through the universe.

Hiking slowly at Middle Creek, seeing Snow geese and Tundra swans, sharing binoculars with Jay…can there be anything more fun?

Jay’s mother’s delicious meal, enough to have my dad join us for dinner.

Avery’s little voice singing the ABC song, saying “I love you Nana” on my answering machine, greeting me when I came home from chemo treatment.

Oh, and how could I forget to mention…four laxatives worked!!!

As I list, my heart sings; I am grateful for so much! This week I am drawn to the song: My Life Flows On, sung by Enya. I plan to play it over and over.

Joyfully,
Sharon

Hints of Red

Here's a good morning quote from the book- "same kind a different like me" by Ron Hall and Denver Moore
Ron: "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 my day with a touch of melancholy though too, since today is my last good day before chemo tomorrow. Despite not looking forward to tomorrow, gladness remains an underground river flowing through my life. Gladness sustains me through chemo side effects, through up-and- down emotions. When I am shaken or ill or sad, all I need to do is become still and quiet, unite with Love, Christ within, the Ground of my Being, and eventually, no matter what the circumstances, all will be well with my soul.

We received some unsettling news on Thursday. A deep gloom beckoned me, inviting me into a fearful free fall. The gloom caught me off guard; I'd been so positive, content, trusting, living fully. It's sobering to realize how quickly life can change. How abruptly a positive, grateful attitude can wither into uncertainty and fear. I'm not inclined to judge ungrateful attitudes in others as negative. I believe all emotions are valid, and need to be felt, embraced, and processed in order to move on. Yet, when I shift suddenly, I wonder if my responses are immature or somehow beneath my current understandings. I'm surprised how vulnerable I feel. Then, with wise counsel, Centering Prayer, and by the grace of God, I find equilibrium again.

A few weeks ago, Twila stopped in to borrow a Paula D'Arcy book. She gave me a flowering Cyclamen and a small Cardinal bird figurine. Was this a Divine coincidence, or is she aware of my story? She knows I love D'Arcy's book: "The Gift of the Red Bird", but does she know how like the author, I also asked God for red bird sightings during a period of upheaval in my life? Red birds always fill me with wonder, and with repeated sightings, I learned deep trust in God. I now lovingly call all 'God moments', red bird sightings!

The Cyclamen flowers are red, stunningly red. I nestled the plant beside our AeroGarden, a small indoor hydroponic garden, so it could soak up light. I wanted the brilliant blooms to last as long as possible. Now, as I pass the garden, I stop and bless the tiny tomato seedlings, encouraging them, sharing breath with them. I gaze at the red flowers, rising brilliantly above heart shaped foliage, petals delicately thin, but standing strong together. I smile at the red bird figurine perched beside the pot, my heart fills with joy.

I don't want the flowers to die. The thought spoils the moment. Thoughts of future change or loss always lessens my present joy. I want to live gloriously, in the now, as the flower and the seedlings. I want to be like my dogs who live moment by moment. I want to be present, not clinging to this moment, a past moment, fearing a future moment, or wishing this moment held something better.

I'm intrigued with the words of Jesus, "consider the lilies of the field, how they grow." I've always been fascinated by animals, plants, and children; I love their openness, attention to the present, their freedom. Jesus instructs listeners to become like little children too. Very young children love life; they are full of eagerness and wonder. Lilies, dogs and children live life exuberantly, in the present. They love what they are. They don't compare themselves to adults, tigers or trees. My dogs don't have commentaries running through their minds, about themselves, about me, about the possible end to dog biscuits. They simply respond to what life presents them. Lilies move with the sun, finding nutrients to give them life, one day at a time. When lilies die, they die with grace and dignity. Same for most animals. No regrets, no expensive clinging to life. I learn much by observing and interacting with plants, animals, and children.

Problems arise, of course, for lilies, dogs, and children. My dogs have a daily problem. Their pack leader has cancer and doesn't show up for walks every day. They whine, become insecure, pace. But at night, they curl up, sleeping deeply. Next morning they wake up with a wag and a shake, eager to greet the day. They are 'present' when problems arise, when Jay comes for a walk without me. They hesitate, they whine; then after full expression of their distress they accept what can't be changed and respond to the next moment. They find pleasure in moving their bodies down the farm lane, with me or without me.

It gives me both joy and sorrow knowing dog walks, and other aspects of life, go on without me. My desire is for others to be present to their lives, so I lean towards joy rather than self pity. Lean, because I can't always leap into joy! Sometimes mourning comes first.


I love when I'm fully alive, open to life, present to what arises, free from mental commentaries, judgments, clinging, and worries. When I'm present to God this way, to Life, my living becomes communion and community, my life becomes prayer. I live, breathe, grow as a lily does, with joy, Presence, and inner stillness. Free of mental noise and emotional suffering. As a lily, I'm present, intent on growing and blooming, no matter what my circumstances or environment.

In my life, in my writing, I want to be present to whatever presents. So if I don't repress the upbeat, positive attitudes and feelings, I must not repress the struggle, the vulnerability, the times of gloom. It is only human to experience both. If I write about one and not the other, I cease being real to myself, to God, to anyone reading or interacting with me.

I will keep reflecting, asking myself how I desire to be in the midst of whatever life presents. I will keep asking God for the grace I need. I will keep asking what gives me life, what really matters. I will keep needing love, God, friends, family, not fearing being vulnerable. I know joy comes from a well of faith, courage, grace and gratitude of which God is the source. I will draw from this well while honoring my emotions and experiences. I will keep recording my gratitudes, each wondrous 'red bird' sighting, both feathered and unfeathered. I will seek out God's humor and love even in subtle hints of red!

Joyfully,
Sharon

Nutritionist vs. Valentine's Day Candy

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 walk. Is Spring around the corner?

The trip to the nutritionist was great. I'm doing fairly well, and don't have to take GOLDENSEAL anymore! Unless I get an infection, but I'm not planning on getting one. I'm addicted to antibacerial hand gel. The nutritionist gave me a new arsonal: chinese herbs for asthma, powder to dissolve under my tongue to keep my blood counts stable, (cool, I won't have to taste it), magnesium for regular elimination (if four laxatives don't work, I have my doubts about magnesium, but I'm willing to try anything!) Special formula for teeth/bones (chemo kills teeth and mine are already almost dead) and more detox bath stuff.

Speaking of teeth, I just ate two pieces of chocolate.

My fingers and feet are going numb now, thanks to chemo. The nutritionist said she could reverse that if it doesn't go away, but she won't give me anything until all chemo is finshed. Her methods may interfere with chemo. Bummer. I'm clumsy enough without having numb feet. I actually laughed when reading info about chemo ...how you aren't supposed to do sports or other activities where you might fall or develop black and blue marks. Why black and blue is almost my race description! I trip over dogs and rugs, fall up steps, smash myself into closet doors and end tables, trip over rugs or uneven floor sections, cut corners too fast or misjudge distances and snag myself on chairs or hooks, smack myself in the head with cupboard doors left open while I bend over to retrieve something I dropped. The last thing I need is numb fingers and toes.

Sigh, I just ate one more piece. Would someone PLEASE get this chocolate out of here!!

I'm going to make goat cheese for Dr. DeGreen when I see him on Tuesday. He bugs me with every round of chemo, warning me NOT to touch unpasturized goat milk, cow milk, cheese or cider. Telling a farm girl not to consume raw foods is pretty brazen of him. I'm obeying. (at least he didn't out law chocolate like the nutritionist!) I do want to jerk his chain a bit, so when I hand him the beautiful container of cheese dip and crackers, I'm telling him the goat cheese is raw.
It'll give me something to look forward to on chemo day!

Joyfully,
Sharon

quote written on my valentine card from Stephanie because she knows I love this part of the movie Cool Runnings: "How 'bout I draw a line down your head and make it look like a butt?"

quote from Steph after I read the card and had an extra robust belly laugh.
"Oh my goodness, I just realized I could actually do this to you now that your head is bald!!"

great day!

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 sunshine yesterday, with no major aches and pains. I wore my new wig twice yesterday. I'm finally getting used to wearing it, although last night eating dinner at Reflection's restaurant with friends, I found myself seated in front of a wall mirror. Imagine a complusive person with a new wig, in front of a mirror! It took great effort not to look every time I felt the wig move around. I wondered if my friends would tell me if it fell lopsided. I stuffed a hat and scarf in my purse, in case an embarrassing moment should arrive. (I've watched too many funniest home videos episodes!)

When I came home from my first outing in the morning, with wig on, Hutch ran up and down the fence sniffing the air, a low rumble in his throat. I laughed out loud, which made him growl. I put my hand to the fence. "It's me you silly dog." He sniffed; his tail wagged, but not with whole rear end enthusiasm as is his usual greeting for me. My proud, trained-to-snif & find-my-lost-things dog, is too old to trust his nose anymore! Either that or I really look awful in a wig!

Joyfully,
Sharon

A Bit of Time Off

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 chiropractor as a toddler. Alternative was not a trend; it was our lifestyle. Yet, most of my adult life, I lived disconnected from my body. I lived in my head. My body wasn't for much except providing nourishment and mobility for my mind, my never ending concepts and thoughts. My body gave me four beautiful children, but otherwise, I either ignored my body, took it for granted, or was disgusted with it for weight, weakness, allergies, imperfections.

I'm no longer disgusted or ungrateful. I love my body. I’m comfortable in my body as I am at home in my mind. I regularly listen to my body; it has much wisdom. It's been a long journey, this integration of body, mind, soul, but worth every step taken, both past and future. Of course, I enjoy a good thought, an invigorating read or discussion, but my mind is no longer queen. Funny, I get cancer when I'm so at peace with myself, ironic too that I'm so dependent on doctors and drugs.

Support drugs now outnumber chemo drugs. I take a pill to sleep, a pill to stop thrush, a pill to produce less stomach acid, a pill to poop (okay four pills for that!!), a pill when my stomach blows up with air and an inhaler when my lungs don't. What must chemo be doing to my organs? Chemo melts my tumor, the intestinal blockage, but then causes what it cured. My kitchen counter looks like a pharmacy. I see all the vials and prescription bottles and wonder how I got here. When I’m tempted to ask why me, I immediately ask why not me. So, while I ask questions, I try not to demand answers.

I'm healing from cancer. That’s my truth now. Though I am always open to a miraculous healing, it seems I'm being healed the traditional way, through good doctors, good medicine and good alternative treatments to support that healing. No matter how much I'd like to take control, take credit for, order and organize my healing, I remind myself every day it is not about saying the right prayers, having enough people praying for me, dong the perfect regime, eating the right foods, drinking the right juice, saying the right affirmations, doing the right meditations or visualizations, it is about living freely and loving fully, doing the best I can with what life is presenting me without compulsion or attachments to an outcome. Living well, responding to God, healing the body, mind, soul is always about freedom and love, no matter what life is presenting. It's about being open to learning, being changed, transformed by any experience. Each and every situation teaches whether a pleasant or an unpleasant
situation. Growing and healing is about being open to life, living in the moment without wanting the next moment, or the moment to contain something different.

So what am I learning? How am I changing? I'm learning the value of friends, lots of friends; I’m not as isolated as I thought. I'm learning to love my body more, to marvel at what the human body can handle, heal, celebrate and endure. I'm learning about grace, both the asking for and the receiving. I now know disease is not a reflection of me; it doesn’t define me. I am not cancer, nor am I responsible for getting cancer. God didn’t give me cancer to teach me a lesson. My misconceptions of God continue to drop away. Instead of blaming myself or God, I’m finding joy in naming my desires, asking for help, giving up fear or control, relaxing and leaning into God, waiting and watching the Spirit move. There is joy in weakness, peace in vulnerability, a precious grace in receiving, once I get my compulsions, pride and independence out of the way. I'm experiencing even more of God's tenderness and humor.


Just a few examples of the MANY God moments, friendship, laughter, tenderness:

· Ginger says: just take the laxatives! I worry -what if I get addicted to laxatives? She answers - after chemo you'll get unaddicted. Oh.
· I say: constipation is a shitty way to live. A friend replies -you mean shitless.
· When I'm too tired to walk in the outdoors I love, God brings the sky to me in a classmate's blue eyes.
· I love salad and kale but cabbage juice gags me. Jay hands me a tall glass of freshly juiced green, then drinks his small portion first. I know if he can drink it, I can too.
· A woman comes to me in the hospital in the middle of the night. She says she's an RN but she doesn't take my vitals like the other RN's do when they come in. Instead she tells me that she is praying for me, that bowel reconstruction surgery is much better than it used to be, and if I should need surgery due to a blockage I don't need to be afraid. My eyes fill with tears, mostly because of the glow around her. She holds my hand, then leaves abruptly. Despite knowing all the nurses and their shifts, I never saw her before nor see her again. And later, I realize I never told her or anyone, not even Jay, of my terrible fear and dread of bowel surgery.
· I make a list of jobs I need help with this week. I work to match friends with jobs, but the task exhausts me. I give up, say to God- I can’t organize this, if I send, will you take care of things? I hesitate long before emailing. How do I know if I'm asking too much of people? Rachel volunteers first; I ask her to do the first thing that came to mind, get packages ready to mail/UPS. While she works here, Jay comments - hey, it's good you have a home business and can mail from home without making an extra trip. I smile with God; the power that created the Universe is good at coordinating!
· I play a CD, without thinking I say to God- I’m tired of my CDs. I wish I had the energy to go on Amazon and find something new. A package arrives in the mail that afternoon, with a card from Ellen and a beautiful, inspirational CD. Amazing!


Joyfully,
Sharon

Fell harder; recovered faster

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, labeling the stories they hear. I'm quite guilty of the same. I wonder why we do this. Perhaps it helps us conquer our own fears, or keep us in denial about facing them.

I'm profoundly grateful for the network of medical and alternative professionals who are on my team, helping me treat, heal and recover from lymphoma. In many ways, I am sailing through this. At the same time, I feel depressed, diminished when told my journey is 'a breeze' compared to so and so. Such words are more debilitating than cancer, especially when lying on the sofa, exhausted, depressed, every cell hurting, not wanting to eat or drink or move.

There is no apt description of 'bad days'. Besides the obvious: sore mouth, throat, eyes, ears, scalp, stomach lining roughed up, innards sluggish, bone aching, weakness when blood cell counts go down, there are deeper symptoms waiting, hovering, always ready to fill the soul. Discouragement, depression, anxiety, sleeplessness, giving up. Chaos is SO much easier then order. It takes more effort to live in the moment, embracing whatever the moment holds, than to wish-ache-long for-insist upon a better moment, or to succumb to fear of the future. It takes more grace to be positive, aware, grateful, alive, than to descend into discouragement.

A short, slow walk after chemo is harder than a vigorous hike. When legs ache and move like jelly, when the core of the body is hollow rather than supportively strong, simple movement becomes another challenge. It takes effort to organize thoughts when chemo turns brain function into a hazy mist. Prednisone makes me moody, hungry, achy, and then when stopped after five days, body pain and depression hits like a tsunami. Chemo is like PMS, or menopause to the 100th power. Every man who lives with a woman, during hormonal tsunami knows not to be patronizing, not to say, you only have eight bad days compared to some who suffer for three weeks.

~~

I love the snow this week. I managed a walk down the snowy pasture yesterday, the dogs so delighted to see me they ran tail-wagging circles around me. The good days have started early, and are so good, I'm planning to go to school for two days to see how I fare. I will don mask and gloves if I hear one cough or sniffle.

The good days make drinking wormish, dirtish tasting Goldenseal and Vicks tasting stillingia almost bearable. I discovered if we don't juice an apple with the cabbage-parsley-cilantro-cucumber-celery-carrot concoction, I can drink without gagging. Somehow the sweet apple taste in a glass of green is just wrong! I'm so grateful to this alternative support. I'm having more good days because of such support and from all the prayer, love, help I'm receiving. It takes a village to cure cancer.

Sisters came this week to grocery shop, clean, sort my clothes, help me try on scarves and hats. What a blessing! Going through my closet brings joy and sorrow. New clothes that fit after losing 25lbs are such a morale boost, but parting with old favorites takes a sister who speaks truth and then yanks them from your clutching hands! Pulling on one black dress, I look down at myself, delighted with the fit though the tag says two sizes too big.

"You're not looking at this," Mim says pointing to darts. "The bust line is down near your belly button." Deflated, I argue.

“I think it looks good!" I twirl and turn, looking down at myself.

"Stop looking down! Look up at yourself in the mirror. Your boobs are supposed to be filling out this part." She grabs a handful of empty fabric, pulls it up, waves it under my nose, then lets go for full effect. I look up into the mirror as the fabric drops.

My hopeful face, her determination, and the saggy, empty darts swinging below my rib cage doubles me over. I'm too weak to laugh like this!

Joyfully,
Sharon

~~~~
You can kid the world. But not your sister. ~Charlotte Gray

Sisters is probably the most competitive relationship within the family, but once the sisters are grown, it becomes the strongest relationship. ~Margaret Mead

The mildest, drowsiest sister has been known to turn tiger if her sibling is in trouble. ~Clara Ortega

Brothers and sisters are as close as hands and feet. ~Vietnamese Proverb

Choices

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, whispering, showing me the stately pine outside. The tree glows in reflected snow-light, each sleeping bough, green and deep is tenderly tucked in, covered with its own white, glittering quilt.

This snow brings me joy; it's the kind of snow that wakes one in the dead of night showering bedrooms with radiant, muted light. I marvel at the quiet beauty while knowing it brings others anxiety. At 3:30am the calls for Jay's snow plowing begin. The milk truck can't get in Amos's driveway. Henri's wife is in labor. John needs to get to the doctor by 7:30. Life is challenging. Snow can be too depending how you see it.

Like the snow bringing joy and fretting, my bone marrow isn't finished force producing white blood cells; I rejoice in the effort, but hurt all night. Bone pain triggers fibromyaliga pain; the night is miserable. Tylenol brings relief, but also restless leg syndrome. How does one choose between aching and twitching?

Yesterday, Brittany stopped by with her mom, and of course brought little Avery. The women cleaned for me as I entertained my grandchild. When Jay brought the mail in, Avery helped me open a package. Pulling out a hat, she held it up for me to put on. Without thinking I took off the hat I was wearing. Avery stared at my bald head. Her tiny jaw went slack, mouth daintily open, hand limply holding the forgotten hat. I smile, grin; speak nonsense, 'where did Nana's hair go?’ When I clipped my hair short, I was apprehensive, fearing she wouldn't know me. Dear child never blinked, just ran to me her little arms open for a Nana hug. I lean down now, take the hat from her hand and put it on my head. She becomes animated again, smiles. Soon, I'm pulling the hats on and off, playing peek-a-boo with my head. She plays along, hesitantly. I ask Jay to get the new wig I spent half of Monday choosing. I want to show Brittany. Avery rides in Papaw’s arms up the stairs to fetch the wig.

I put the new wig on. It's similar to my own hair style and color. I preen and pose while the women comment. Avery stares again, smiles shyly. Jay goes back upstairs to get the brown wig I had before. I pull off the new wig and replace it with brown. Avery stares, unsmiling. Will she cry? The women clamor how much they love me in brown. I’m distracted, forgetting Avery until moments later. Jay comes back into the room, Avery in tow. She made him take her back upstairs to get the whitish/grayish wig. She puts the styrofoam wig-covered head on my lap and cautiously fingers the fake hair. She looks up at Nana in brown hair, her little brows gathering like storm clouds above her round eyes. I gaze back, baffled, before laughing out loud. Little ‘Duckie Dimples’ has chosen!

Joyfully,
Sharon

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 to do again, like walking, swimming, hiking, yoga, cleaning, gardening, kissing Avery, petting newborn foals, but I don’t have to wait to enjoy life until I can do them. I can enjoy life now! Dreaming, planning is good, but living now is best.

2. It’s snowing!! Big, beautiful, lacy, white flakes are falling.

3. My sofa cushion is silk underneath its cover. I said prayerfully yesterday: “I’d walk a mile for something silky to lay my itchy, blotchy scalp against.” Wow; I didn’t have to walk!

4. Mail comes! Every day! Isn’t it fabulous? Just got a beautiful hand crocheted hat from a friend, a glorious page of chicken/rooster stickers, flowers, chapstick kisses from grand daughter Avery, and a book from a sister. I’m so blessed! Even if there were no gifts, mail is a miracle! (Wait till the government cancels Saturday delivery, if you don’t believe me).

5. I’m curling up on the sofa, tired, bones aching from producing white cells, listening to books on CD. I love being ‘read to’.

6. Wonderful hubby made a delicious breakfast this morning and served it to me: 2 potato broccoli cakes and 1 duck egg. I had fresh strawberries for lunch. Am I lucky or what?

7. There are lovely faces/photos showing up on my blog site. I have no vested interest in anyone following my blog (baffled they do, actually) and I’m almost totally ignorant of how blogs work, but the simple fact that lovely people, and interesting representations of lovely people pop up once in awhile, surprises me. Surprises make me quite happy.

8. Every three week chemo cycle I plan something FUN to look forward to during my ‘good week’. Makes me giddy with anticipation!

9. Last ‘good week’, I painted pottery to give as a gift. My object has flaws, mistakes, but I love the piece because it reminds me of someone I love. Before cancer, I wouldn’t have given the gift. Today, I give with joy, no longer caring about something as insignificant as perfection!

10. My blood counts are MUCH better this time! Bone pain is subsiding after only 1 ½ days, compared to three days. Glory be for prayer, acupressure, tapping, NAET treatments, gulping goldenseal and cabbage juice, and detoxing in a muddy brown herbal bath.

And the grandest reason to celebrate …

11. I have the power to celebrate my cell counts! I just drank hot chocolate and polished off a bowl of natural chocolate ice cream. Nothing is as rich and decadent! (okay, the crème brulee was, but vanilla is not chocolate, after all)

A gal can’t live on cabbage juice alone…

Joyfully,
Sharon

Exquisite Joy 2-1-09

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 intentions hide trackers when we come in. I will never know if they did me a favor handing me: "Support for your Journey: Planner & Guide 2009" Every day I check off body functions, medications taken, symptoms felt, doctor appointments kept. It's become my new work, each day's accomplishment signing, checking off, taking, keeping appointments.

It's 11am and an unchecked square glares from the notebook. My turning-to-stone insides remind me this empty space needs my attention. I'm just too tired to care and keep reading my book, The Life of Pi. Pi is shipwrecked, on a lifeboat in the Pacific Ocean with a Bengal Tiger. Starving, eating nothing but turtles and fish, Pi's insides have problems. Both tiger and boy only ingest protein and water, only eliminate once a month. It's a painful ordeal. Their bloated insides distract me from my own. The effort just to be positive is tiring, to allow mind to partner body, by saying crazy things like, "I flow with life. My body is wonderfully made. The bread of life flows easily within me and through me." I know power exists in this moment, the task being asked of me. I can't move yesterday's check to today; it's pointless to chant "tomorrow I will flow with life." My body is easily fooled and will wait for my mind to catch up. So, the time for effort is now. In my exhaustion, I continue ignoring wisdom.

Hungry. Insanely hungry.

Hunger distracts me easier than attending to my discomforting innards. I shudder imagining putting anything down my sand-papered throat; yet the hunger drives me. In the kitchen I chop cabbage for roasting. Teo, my daughter's Toy Fox Terrier puppy, stands below the chopping board, shivering, stick legs holding up his droopy head, whimpering body. He doesn't like the sounds of knives and juicers in my kitchen. Tired as I am, the knife barely taps the board. What could he possibly be hearing, sensing? Teo, like all animals, is completely one with his body, his environment, his community. He knows a primordial, intuitive language, one I also know well when I'm open and free rather than closed down wanting only rational, analytical thinking. Being present every moment, to Spirit, to body, to mind, to community, is a challenge on normal days. On days when the body is yelling from chemo, from recovery, remaining open and aware is like climbing a never ending mountain range, not a day's hike with an exhilarating view at the top. I want dullness; want to pretend I’m resting at the summit! I desperately want Teo to stop communicating so I can retreat into oblivion. And, I'm desperately afraid he will.

"Okay, dear ones," I say to my heavy feet. "Up the stairs to the big white bowl we go. All life takes some effort." I put the cabbage in the oven, move towards the upstairs door, passing the stash of laxatives on the counter. Ah, it would be so easy! Ignore, medicate, force. How low have I sunk? Temptation in a blue bottle?

Your body is sacred.

The words come somewhere deep. Next moment is awed, holy. There is nothing lowly here; all life is beautiful, all efforts sacred. Body rhythms, awareness, supplements, medications, prayer, massage, surgery, acupuncture, gardening, contracting, plowing, teaching - all are beautiful, sacred, reverent, holy! My body is wonderfully made, a gorgeous temple that cradles my free spirit, my spirit one with Spirit. The Creator of stars and galaxies and ecosystems is delighted when I honor my own universe, my body ecosystem. There is a time for wonder in the cosmos, for fellowship in community, just as there is time for wonder and encouragement of my own small world.

Drawn to Love. Drawn, drawn...

Hunger satisfied, space checked off, there is nothing left but sleepy desire, a drawing toward gratefulness. I want to pray, meditate, center. I stand by my rocking chair facing east, looking out on bird bath, barn, blue sky. I'm so tired. My eyes stray to the sofa in the next room. Sleep, sleep, yet, I'm drawn to awareness, being still.

I will pray you, beloved.

I smile, knowing the voice. I creep to the sofa, sink down. Gathering prayer shawl and afghan around me, my head rolls onto a fluffy pillow as my silky hat scarf flows down my face; I drift in and out of deep relaxation, listening to a guided imagery CD. My weary body is comforted, guided by gentle voices. And angel of God is coming to be with me, says the recorded voice. As usual, Em comes instead. Em, Emmanuel, God with us. Em as a fragrant breeze, a red bird, a hint of hope, a bald black man, courage, the tree I lean upon, the purring chest of a big cat, love, a lily, a child taking my hand, the scent of lavender, an Asian women with jet black hair, healing, a smooth stone polished by rolling waters, a warm pond in which I float. As I drift on a sea of comfort, prayer shawl, hat, scarf, enfolds me, becomes Em's hair. Even when bald, or feathered, or round as a stone, Em has hair. Hair, smelling of earth and sky, beach and wood, sunshine, allspice and fire, whispers, leather, donkeys and dogs, myrrh, melodies, hammers and hymns, basil, shells and roses, bare feet, wild grasses, stars, moon and apple pie. Suddenly, all is still, quiet. I'm unaware of blanket or pillow, thought or scent. I'm suspended in being. In Being. Nothing exists but exquisite joy.

I am prayed by the Beloved.


~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~


"To hear God's Voice is an act of courage. It is a willingness to hear what you do not know,and a willingness to know what you already are." Voice for Love website

"When the power of love overcomes the love of power, there will be true peace." Sufi Wisdom

"In a dream, in a vision of the night,
when sleep falls on mortals,
while they slumber on their beds,
then God opens their ears." Job 33:15-16