To my Dear Friends:
I have a friend that is retiring this Friday. Somehow, even though I am glad for her, it makes me sad. I think it is because I will probably never see her again. Our lives have mixed because of work and even though I am already retired, I know where to find her and feel a connection to her. When she retires, I feel like she will be out of my life forever. That is the natural scheme of things, but I miss her already.
Things ending always mean a change in relationships. In that change, there are always good things and bad. The loss of ones you love, but the room to make new ones. As I look back, I have never lost the influence of any of the people close to me even though I have lost the closeness, or complete contact.
God has used each significant person in my life, to make me into who I am now. Those people, however, do not have to be in my life now to continue to enrich it. Like my friend that is retiring, her influence on me is still valued because of what we learned together, talked about and experienced through the years we were close to one another. That will never change.
As we age, it is easier to understand this phenomenon and to accept the changes as they come, knowing there is a blessing in there somewhere.
For the first time in our life, Lee and I are living without a future. This is a huge change for us.
We are goal-oriented people; we plan our days, weeks, months and years. We buy, build, invest, and save for the long haul. We buy clothes and cars to last and figure we will die in this house. It's not that we are afraid of change; we just haven't assumed change would happen, so we invest in the status quo. Now things are different.
I am living with more than a dozen tumors in my abdomen and innumerable microscopic cancer cells. There is no telling what the future holds. They may stay in a symbiotic relationship for a long time or choose to invade an organ at any time.
In Luke 12, Jesus tells a story of a farmer who has an extraordinary crop. In his revelry he decides to build more barns, store all his grain and enjoy the rest of his life. Jesus admonishes him as a fool. He notes that the rich farmer will lose his life that night and never enjoy the riches he has gained.
I've always wondered about this story because there is nothing in scripture that suggests that you should squander your money. The farmer seemed to be doing what we all would do. Take the plenty and invest it for the future. What's wrong with this? Only Jesus knew he would die that night. However, I think I am beginning to get it.
The farmer's concern was not that he built the barns but that he chose to quit working. God has something for us to do all the time we are here on the earth. It may not be for the future, it may just be for now.
That is where Lee and I are. We have always worked for the now, but built for the future. Now we are learning to work for the now. We work because there is work to be done. It also means that we cannot hold on too tightly. Why keep something that is not being used? Why save every nickel when you know there are people, right now, that can use it? Most importantly, it means spending our time doing the work of the Lord. There is no such thing as retirement from doing the work of the Lord.
So many times, the treatment of this cancer gets in the way of serving. Having to drive 100miles to the City of Hope, not feeling well in the evenings and missing meetings, choir, or other ministries, I have questioned why God has taken my ability to minister away just as things were beginning to blossom. His answer has been to redirect me to ministries that I can do. Some from home, some in the mornings, others at opportune times. I am not at a loss for things to do and that keeps me very happy.
I think the most important aspect of all this has been my focus on going home. Three years ago, I would be angry with all the issues in this letter. I would feel boxed in, frustrated and frightened about the loss. God has taken me to a place where the world is not so important. The people are still very important, but things are not. I was thinking about the "Make a Wish" program that ensures that people get to do the one thing they always dreamed of but never got to do before they die. I thought of the things I've always dreamed of doing: climb Mt. Whitney, walk the entire Pacific Crest Trail, see all the National Parks in America, visit every state, walk across America and walk the Appalachian trail. These still come to mind every time I dream, but you know what; they aren't important. I'd rather be in church on Sunday morning, have lunch with a friend, sit with my husband, tutor a kid, sing in the choir, or write these letters. Life is not about fulfilling my dreams; it's about fulfilling other's dreams. In my life, I have been able to do that countless times. What a blessing!
God keeps putting people in my life who need Jesus, or need to talk, want to learn, or just cry. My life is rich and full, but I don't need to hold on to it. I can't store it and then celebrate. I have to keep going until God calls me home.
I'm ready. It's not giving up, it's accepting. It's knowing that unless Jesus comes soon, He and I will meet before many others that I love. It means being excited about today and not anxious for tomorrow. Loving becomes immediate and true; there is no time to do it later.
And what if God heals me? Then I will have a lot of time to live my life the way God has taught me. That will be excellent.
Thank you for your prayers for they have been the reason for the changes in me. It may not have been what you prayed for, but as you prayed for healing, my heart was healed. Continue to pray for both the healing of my heart and my body. I would like to do God's work until He returns.
With all my love,
Marj
Showing posts with label Letters for 2008. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Letters for 2008. Show all posts
The Cyclone - November 09, 2008
To my dear Friends:
The Cyclone, at Magic Mountain, is one of my favorite roller coasters. A replica of the one in Long Beach, it is made of wood so it isn't as jarring as others are and has some very interesting moves to it. It also sounds like a cyclone, which makes it even more fun.
I'm too old to ride roller coasters any more, but that doesn't mean that I have forgotten the reasons I like them. Roller coasters always come back to the beginning. The ride is exhilarating though too short. When you are done, you are exhausted, but ready to go again. Most importantly, you do better if you just relax and go along for the ride. I like to try to just sit in the seat, not hold on, and be as quiet as possible.
The ride is not about me, it is about the circuitous path of the car. It is about faith that the car will not fly off the track or crush into a pancake at the bottom of the highest hill. It is a testimony to the creator of the roller coaster to build something that will withstand the stress.
I also like the fact that it is gravity driven as much as possible. I don't think we respect gravity very much. It is a powerful force. If you don't think so, just look in the mirror. Everything you don't like about yourself is caused by gravity.
Then there is the grind of the first uphill. The sheer power and effort necessary to make it to the top of the hill. It wouldn't have the same feel if it quietly moved into position to start the run.
I remember one day Magic Mountain was almost deserted. I rode that coaster for three hours without ever getting off. The last few times, I was exhausted but felt called to continue until I knew it was over. Don't ask me how I knew it was over, I just did. When I climbed out of the car, I could barely walk and my feet hummed. So did my butt.
Many times, we speak of life as a roller coaster ride and in some ways, it is. There are many turns, uphills and down hills. Rarely, when we call it such, do we mean it in a positive way. I think we miss the fun that way.
This cancer certainly fits the vision of a roller coaster. The arduous uphill climb at the beginning of each run reminds me of how I feel each time we start new treatments. Every new chemotherapy is a time of prayer and questioning. Often the emotions are so strong that they rattle in my head. The trip is demanding and even though I know there is a top, I cannot see it or anticipate its height. I must just listen and feel the difficulty of the climb.
Each treatment is a rollercoaster that continues on a set path that does not change, but always surprises me. I have been around this treatment circuit four times. I don't have a sense of being done so I can't leave the car. I try to relax and move with the path but at times, I just have to hold on tight.
There is both wonderment and fear each time. I anticipate the turns incorrectly. What I remember as easy, all of a sudden, seems harsh and sharp. Then the turns that jerked me around last time seem to have smoothed out. How, I wonder, does the path seem so different when, as I look back, I see that it is the same.
Some of the downhills are exhilarating and some are just to relax. When chemo sessions end and scans show progress, I feel the slide down the hill. I should probably raise my arms and yell with the rest of them but I have a hard time relaxing and letting myself fall. I know that the downhill is only to build speed for the rest of the run. The anticipation takes the rest out of it for me. Cancer, at least mine, does not end. There is no valley to rest in. The downhill just adds energy so I can make the next climb or buzz through the turns. There is much apprehension with every downhill.
The turns will wrench your whole body if you are not ready for them and yet they are the interesting part of the ride. The turns in this cancer have been so sharp at times that I have not been able to hold on; a surgical second looked showed the chemo had failed to slow the cancer, an allergic reaction to one of the chemos, and now the damage to my digestive system makes most days a challenge. Yet, some of the turns are smooth and enjoyable. Right now, in spite of digestive problems, I am strong and able to work. To be outside working all day is a real gift. To look across our yard and see the textures of the scenery as the things we planned grow and bloom beautifully, astounds me. Turns can cause me to lose my composure and begin to panic or excite me with wonderful praise. It seems like I can understand the cancer but I had not planned for the turns. How do I handle them?
Just when I think the ride is over, the cancer grows again, and we do it all over. In fact, the ride never stops; it just slows down to let others on. This chronic disease has not let up from its inception. I try to sit back and let the ride take me where it will but there are times when it frightens me. It can be too violent, too demanding, and too quiet to trust. The only way I can sit back is in the arms of Christ. As I pray, I see myself sitting in His lap as He rides the roller coaster with me. He cushions the jar of the ride, holds me close on the downhills, and wraps His arms around me on the turns so I don't hit the sides. He even covers my eyes at the top of the hill. He is warm and gentle. He will not let go of me. There is no time that I have to worry. He is after all, the creator.
Help me to remember this picture. It is hard, at times, to remember that I am not alone. Lee is always with me, I know that, but I need to remember the intimate relationship I have with Christ. He is the only one that can truly share my fears before I even experience them. He alone knows the next turn, when the uphill will start and how far the downhill will go. Please pray that I will keep that vision.
With all my love
Marj.
The Cyclone, at Magic Mountain, is one of my favorite roller coasters. A replica of the one in Long Beach, it is made of wood so it isn't as jarring as others are and has some very interesting moves to it. It also sounds like a cyclone, which makes it even more fun.
I'm too old to ride roller coasters any more, but that doesn't mean that I have forgotten the reasons I like them. Roller coasters always come back to the beginning. The ride is exhilarating though too short. When you are done, you are exhausted, but ready to go again. Most importantly, you do better if you just relax and go along for the ride. I like to try to just sit in the seat, not hold on, and be as quiet as possible.
The ride is not about me, it is about the circuitous path of the car. It is about faith that the car will not fly off the track or crush into a pancake at the bottom of the highest hill. It is a testimony to the creator of the roller coaster to build something that will withstand the stress.
I also like the fact that it is gravity driven as much as possible. I don't think we respect gravity very much. It is a powerful force. If you don't think so, just look in the mirror. Everything you don't like about yourself is caused by gravity.
Then there is the grind of the first uphill. The sheer power and effort necessary to make it to the top of the hill. It wouldn't have the same feel if it quietly moved into position to start the run.
I remember one day Magic Mountain was almost deserted. I rode that coaster for three hours without ever getting off. The last few times, I was exhausted but felt called to continue until I knew it was over. Don't ask me how I knew it was over, I just did. When I climbed out of the car, I could barely walk and my feet hummed. So did my butt.
Many times, we speak of life as a roller coaster ride and in some ways, it is. There are many turns, uphills and down hills. Rarely, when we call it such, do we mean it in a positive way. I think we miss the fun that way.
This cancer certainly fits the vision of a roller coaster. The arduous uphill climb at the beginning of each run reminds me of how I feel each time we start new treatments. Every new chemotherapy is a time of prayer and questioning. Often the emotions are so strong that they rattle in my head. The trip is demanding and even though I know there is a top, I cannot see it or anticipate its height. I must just listen and feel the difficulty of the climb.
Each treatment is a rollercoaster that continues on a set path that does not change, but always surprises me. I have been around this treatment circuit four times. I don't have a sense of being done so I can't leave the car. I try to relax and move with the path but at times, I just have to hold on tight.
There is both wonderment and fear each time. I anticipate the turns incorrectly. What I remember as easy, all of a sudden, seems harsh and sharp. Then the turns that jerked me around last time seem to have smoothed out. How, I wonder, does the path seem so different when, as I look back, I see that it is the same.
Some of the downhills are exhilarating and some are just to relax. When chemo sessions end and scans show progress, I feel the slide down the hill. I should probably raise my arms and yell with the rest of them but I have a hard time relaxing and letting myself fall. I know that the downhill is only to build speed for the rest of the run. The anticipation takes the rest out of it for me. Cancer, at least mine, does not end. There is no valley to rest in. The downhill just adds energy so I can make the next climb or buzz through the turns. There is much apprehension with every downhill.
The turns will wrench your whole body if you are not ready for them and yet they are the interesting part of the ride. The turns in this cancer have been so sharp at times that I have not been able to hold on; a surgical second looked showed the chemo had failed to slow the cancer, an allergic reaction to one of the chemos, and now the damage to my digestive system makes most days a challenge. Yet, some of the turns are smooth and enjoyable. Right now, in spite of digestive problems, I am strong and able to work. To be outside working all day is a real gift. To look across our yard and see the textures of the scenery as the things we planned grow and bloom beautifully, astounds me. Turns can cause me to lose my composure and begin to panic or excite me with wonderful praise. It seems like I can understand the cancer but I had not planned for the turns. How do I handle them?
Just when I think the ride is over, the cancer grows again, and we do it all over. In fact, the ride never stops; it just slows down to let others on. This chronic disease has not let up from its inception. I try to sit back and let the ride take me where it will but there are times when it frightens me. It can be too violent, too demanding, and too quiet to trust. The only way I can sit back is in the arms of Christ. As I pray, I see myself sitting in His lap as He rides the roller coaster with me. He cushions the jar of the ride, holds me close on the downhills, and wraps His arms around me on the turns so I don't hit the sides. He even covers my eyes at the top of the hill. He is warm and gentle. He will not let go of me. There is no time that I have to worry. He is after all, the creator.
Help me to remember this picture. It is hard, at times, to remember that I am not alone. Lee is always with me, I know that, but I need to remember the intimate relationship I have with Christ. He is the only one that can truly share my fears before I even experience them. He alone knows the next turn, when the uphill will start and how far the downhill will go. Please pray that I will keep that vision.
With all my love
Marj.
Borders of Our Lives - October 20, 2008
To my dear friends:
I love singing poets. It allows the emotion of the words to come through even if you are not sure of their meaning. In "Dangling Conversation" by Paul Simon, each verse ends with "at (are) the borders of our lives." One must ask, what does the borders of our lives means. For Paul Simon, I think it means the edge of our thinking-- places that are safe, nothing deep. The kind of conversation one has on a first date, or in line at the grocery store. The song further conveys a futility of lives lived on the borders; Lives that never go deep, never seem to be lived fully. It is a mournful ditty with a sense of sadness.
I have a different picture of what "the borders of our lives" might mean. If I just think of this paper, the borders are blank; they direct you to the middle of the page. The depth of the prose is not in the borders, but is focused by the borders. The paper would look wrong without borders and would give a sense of disorientation. We expect the border. Additionally, the border can be controlled for thickness, smoothness, and balance. The borders orient the paper, direct the thought through the title, and sequence it with page numbers.
Without the body of the paper, however, the border has no power. The body gives meaning, questions, and sometimes answers. The body is the reason for the paper and the border the antithesis. We cannot do without either. When we write papers, we concern ourselves with the body then format the border. In doing so, we are looking for a style to match our thoughts, appropriate placement on the page and accurate direction. A small border suggests that there is more than we can get on this page. A large border might mean that we are trying to look like we said a lot, or we may want the artistic look, or drama, of a variable border. Then again, when we want a specific number of pages, the border becomes a tool to manifest this. It is intrinsic to how the body will fit the desired pages. Borders should never be decided first, for to do so limits the creativity and presentation of the body. It falsely defines the length and breadth of the body and is not attuned to the nature of the body.
Simon, however, is looking deeper than words or paper. He is looking at the borders of our lives. To him, the borders of our lives are the trite, insignificant things that we do or talk about. There is also a sense that they are the beginning and the ends of our lives that do not really matter. He sees them as having height to block out others from the body of our lives. In this case, borders are negative. I see where Paul Simon is coming from but I don't necessarily agree with him.
I think the borders of our lives give us the place for things that entertain, confuse, and educate us but that are not the core of our life. For instance, I am entertained by old sit coms. I enjoy spending the last hours of the day watching something that I don't have to think about. This is one border. Much of the philosophical thought of the day, or the political arena confuses me. I continue to deal with it but it does not disturb me to not have a firm grasp of the issues. It is a border and does not define who I am.
Then there is this cancer. It would be easy for it to move from the border of my life to the body if I let it. Frankly, that is a constant fight. Every time we start a new treatment, as we are now, the cancer seems to consume too much thought and time. It makes for an extra large border and skews the entire work.
I have started a new oral chemotherapy. It is easier, so far, than any of the others and we do not know the effectiveness yet. The side effect are fewer and include a sense of impatience or anxiety, more abdominal activity, slight fatigue and joint pain. Not really much to deal with but the sensations are new and the regimen requires planning each day so that meals correspond with the dosing.
When I concentrate on the borders, my life is out of balance. The "paper" does not look right. Central to the paper, the body of who I am and why I am here, is Jesus Christ. That must take center stage. How I live my life, what I talk about, how I schedule my days, who is important to me, depend on Christ and my relationship to Him. He is the body of me and yet He says that I am part of His body. Our relationship has to be that close to have things be right. If my relationship with Christ is wrong or ignored because of the cancer, than my relationship with my husband will be wrong or ignored because it is a reflection of my relationship with Christ. If my service to Christ is ignored because of the cancer, then any service that I perform seems askew because it is for me and not for Christ. To the world, it may not look different but I know who I am serving. To be self-serving is to live on the borders of my life.
This is a constant struggle. The borders of my life are always there and always pushing in. Entertainment, recreation, cancer, are all part my borders but they must remain the borders. As these gain strength the center of my life diminishes as does my joy and reason for life. For a paper with no body is a blank page. The borders have taken it all up. No one wants to read it. It is only a tool to be used for something else.
Please pray that both Lee and I can find that balance between the border and body of our lives. He is much better at it than I. This cancer can become consuming even in the best of times. Now, as the doctors' visits increase with new treatment and we adjust our lives to different patterns, we need to do that easily and keep it on the border. Our focus needs to stay on serving each other, since this is a way to serve Christ. We need to keep our ministries intact, as it is easy not to find the time to serve the Lord. Finally, we need to avoid isolating ourselves from others and become integral parts of the body of Christ.
Love Marj
I love singing poets. It allows the emotion of the words to come through even if you are not sure of their meaning. In "Dangling Conversation" by Paul Simon, each verse ends with "at (are) the borders of our lives." One must ask, what does the borders of our lives means. For Paul Simon, I think it means the edge of our thinking-- places that are safe, nothing deep. The kind of conversation one has on a first date, or in line at the grocery store. The song further conveys a futility of lives lived on the borders; Lives that never go deep, never seem to be lived fully. It is a mournful ditty with a sense of sadness.
I have a different picture of what "the borders of our lives" might mean. If I just think of this paper, the borders are blank; they direct you to the middle of the page. The depth of the prose is not in the borders, but is focused by the borders. The paper would look wrong without borders and would give a sense of disorientation. We expect the border. Additionally, the border can be controlled for thickness, smoothness, and balance. The borders orient the paper, direct the thought through the title, and sequence it with page numbers.
Without the body of the paper, however, the border has no power. The body gives meaning, questions, and sometimes answers. The body is the reason for the paper and the border the antithesis. We cannot do without either. When we write papers, we concern ourselves with the body then format the border. In doing so, we are looking for a style to match our thoughts, appropriate placement on the page and accurate direction. A small border suggests that there is more than we can get on this page. A large border might mean that we are trying to look like we said a lot, or we may want the artistic look, or drama, of a variable border. Then again, when we want a specific number of pages, the border becomes a tool to manifest this. It is intrinsic to how the body will fit the desired pages. Borders should never be decided first, for to do so limits the creativity and presentation of the body. It falsely defines the length and breadth of the body and is not attuned to the nature of the body.
Simon, however, is looking deeper than words or paper. He is looking at the borders of our lives. To him, the borders of our lives are the trite, insignificant things that we do or talk about. There is also a sense that they are the beginning and the ends of our lives that do not really matter. He sees them as having height to block out others from the body of our lives. In this case, borders are negative. I see where Paul Simon is coming from but I don't necessarily agree with him.
I think the borders of our lives give us the place for things that entertain, confuse, and educate us but that are not the core of our life. For instance, I am entertained by old sit coms. I enjoy spending the last hours of the day watching something that I don't have to think about. This is one border. Much of the philosophical thought of the day, or the political arena confuses me. I continue to deal with it but it does not disturb me to not have a firm grasp of the issues. It is a border and does not define who I am.
Then there is this cancer. It would be easy for it to move from the border of my life to the body if I let it. Frankly, that is a constant fight. Every time we start a new treatment, as we are now, the cancer seems to consume too much thought and time. It makes for an extra large border and skews the entire work.
I have started a new oral chemotherapy. It is easier, so far, than any of the others and we do not know the effectiveness yet. The side effect are fewer and include a sense of impatience or anxiety, more abdominal activity, slight fatigue and joint pain. Not really much to deal with but the sensations are new and the regimen requires planning each day so that meals correspond with the dosing.
When I concentrate on the borders, my life is out of balance. The "paper" does not look right. Central to the paper, the body of who I am and why I am here, is Jesus Christ. That must take center stage. How I live my life, what I talk about, how I schedule my days, who is important to me, depend on Christ and my relationship to Him. He is the body of me and yet He says that I am part of His body. Our relationship has to be that close to have things be right. If my relationship with Christ is wrong or ignored because of the cancer, than my relationship with my husband will be wrong or ignored because it is a reflection of my relationship with Christ. If my service to Christ is ignored because of the cancer, then any service that I perform seems askew because it is for me and not for Christ. To the world, it may not look different but I know who I am serving. To be self-serving is to live on the borders of my life.
This is a constant struggle. The borders of my life are always there and always pushing in. Entertainment, recreation, cancer, are all part my borders but they must remain the borders. As these gain strength the center of my life diminishes as does my joy and reason for life. For a paper with no body is a blank page. The borders have taken it all up. No one wants to read it. It is only a tool to be used for something else.
Please pray that both Lee and I can find that balance between the border and body of our lives. He is much better at it than I. This cancer can become consuming even in the best of times. Now, as the doctors' visits increase with new treatment and we adjust our lives to different patterns, we need to do that easily and keep it on the border. Our focus needs to stay on serving each other, since this is a way to serve Christ. We need to keep our ministries intact, as it is easy not to find the time to serve the Lord. Finally, we need to avoid isolating ourselves from others and become integral parts of the body of Christ.
Love Marj
Be Still and Know - September 16, 2008
To my dear friends:
Be still and know that I am God. Psalms 46:10a
How do you know when you have done enough? Lee, in his book The Outpost War, tells the story of a Marine in a battle for a hill in the Korean War. The young man fought courageously until he was ultimately wounded and captured. As Chinese soldiers took him away, he heard other soldiers coming up the hill. He was sure it was Marines coming to retake the position but it would be too late for him. The Marine lived most of his life thinking that he should have done more, that his salvation had been so close at hand.
As it turned out, what he heard was more Chinese troops climbing up the hill. Had he not stopped fighting when he did, he most surely would have died. It was many years later that he learned the truth and that truth did, in fact, set him free from his lingering guilt and shame.
I feel like I am on that hill. My fight has been long and the wounds are visible. I can still fight, but I wonder, is it the right thing to do? Will the fight just aggravate the enemy? Do I even understand who the enemy is? No doubt, that Marine was in many fights before this one. What was different? What caused him to stop this time? How overpowered do you have to be to quit fighting and surrender? Will I look back in regret and realize that my help was near? I have no answers and I find it difficult to be still.
I have been off chemotherapy since late June. By now, the effects are gone and my body is beginning to act as it should. I am stronger, my blood is normal and I can think whole thoughts without the cloud of chemo. We have done two CT scans and see little growth in the tumors in my abdomen. The time has been spent trying to control the symptoms caused by the tumors pressing on my digestive system. We are making some headway.
This is a good report, but it is not all that there is. The tumors are growing and will eventually invade whatever organ they choose. There is microscopic cancer throughout my abdomen that could at any time travel to other parts of my body. God has not seen fit to heal me at this time.
The absolute unknown is time. How long, Lord? What have you given me time to do? Am I to fight? Am I to surrender? To fight would mean to try another chemo. Surgery, for us, is out of the question. There is too much and the cancer is too diversified. The damage would be beyond rational thinking. So, shall I try another chemo and deal with the side effects? Will it lengthen my life? Will it merely change my life? What about ministry, will I be able to continue? If I surrender, and not submit to chemo, will I look back later and realize that my help was near? I do not know.
The answer to all of this is God. Understand this; God's will is not always as clear as I would like it. I do not know what He wants nor do I know that it matters to Him that I do chemo or not. He knows when I am coming home and how. It is arrogant of me to think that I can change that in any way. All I want to do is His will and yet I am clouded by the fight that is before me. I think it is more important that I be in God's will rather than do God's will.
As I read His scripture, I see that He is more concerned about the heart of the man than the actions of the man. I need to be centered in Him. I need to love Him and accept His love. I need to give that love to others and glorify Him in all that I do. What I do must be motivated by that love. I will admit to you that there is great challenge in such a statement. Cancer has a way of making you look inward. I find it a fight to keep my focus on others. I want to love myself more than others. Without God's love, it is impossible for me to love others the way God wants me to. So you see it is not what I do but how I do it.
"Be still." Listen. God has placed on my heart what He wants there. I must fathom the depths of my heart and decide from there for it does not matter to God if I take chemo or not. That is mine to decide. I want Him to decide for me so that I do not have to. He is not taking it back. He is a good father. He knows I need to own this decision, and I have made it.
I think it is time to renew the fight. I do not want to look back and wonder if my help was near. I want to fight back. I want to defeat the evil thing that is climbing the hill to take my life. Winning is not important, to resist is.
Please pray for us. Every new treatment comes with anxiety. We will not start this for several weeks. Pray that if this is not the right thing for me to do that my heart will tell me. Pray that my husband's wisdom will help in guiding me for he too must live with the consequences. I do not want him to look back and wonder if our help was near and we surrendered too soon. Thank you for your love and friendship.
Love, Marj.
Be still and know that I am God. Psalms 46:10a
How do you know when you have done enough? Lee, in his book The Outpost War, tells the story of a Marine in a battle for a hill in the Korean War. The young man fought courageously until he was ultimately wounded and captured. As Chinese soldiers took him away, he heard other soldiers coming up the hill. He was sure it was Marines coming to retake the position but it would be too late for him. The Marine lived most of his life thinking that he should have done more, that his salvation had been so close at hand.
As it turned out, what he heard was more Chinese troops climbing up the hill. Had he not stopped fighting when he did, he most surely would have died. It was many years later that he learned the truth and that truth did, in fact, set him free from his lingering guilt and shame.
I feel like I am on that hill. My fight has been long and the wounds are visible. I can still fight, but I wonder, is it the right thing to do? Will the fight just aggravate the enemy? Do I even understand who the enemy is? No doubt, that Marine was in many fights before this one. What was different? What caused him to stop this time? How overpowered do you have to be to quit fighting and surrender? Will I look back in regret and realize that my help was near? I have no answers and I find it difficult to be still.
I have been off chemotherapy since late June. By now, the effects are gone and my body is beginning to act as it should. I am stronger, my blood is normal and I can think whole thoughts without the cloud of chemo. We have done two CT scans and see little growth in the tumors in my abdomen. The time has been spent trying to control the symptoms caused by the tumors pressing on my digestive system. We are making some headway.
This is a good report, but it is not all that there is. The tumors are growing and will eventually invade whatever organ they choose. There is microscopic cancer throughout my abdomen that could at any time travel to other parts of my body. God has not seen fit to heal me at this time.
The absolute unknown is time. How long, Lord? What have you given me time to do? Am I to fight? Am I to surrender? To fight would mean to try another chemo. Surgery, for us, is out of the question. There is too much and the cancer is too diversified. The damage would be beyond rational thinking. So, shall I try another chemo and deal with the side effects? Will it lengthen my life? Will it merely change my life? What about ministry, will I be able to continue? If I surrender, and not submit to chemo, will I look back later and realize that my help was near? I do not know.
The answer to all of this is God. Understand this; God's will is not always as clear as I would like it. I do not know what He wants nor do I know that it matters to Him that I do chemo or not. He knows when I am coming home and how. It is arrogant of me to think that I can change that in any way. All I want to do is His will and yet I am clouded by the fight that is before me. I think it is more important that I be in God's will rather than do God's will.
As I read His scripture, I see that He is more concerned about the heart of the man than the actions of the man. I need to be centered in Him. I need to love Him and accept His love. I need to give that love to others and glorify Him in all that I do. What I do must be motivated by that love. I will admit to you that there is great challenge in such a statement. Cancer has a way of making you look inward. I find it a fight to keep my focus on others. I want to love myself more than others. Without God's love, it is impossible for me to love others the way God wants me to. So you see it is not what I do but how I do it.
"Be still." Listen. God has placed on my heart what He wants there. I must fathom the depths of my heart and decide from there for it does not matter to God if I take chemo or not. That is mine to decide. I want Him to decide for me so that I do not have to. He is not taking it back. He is a good father. He knows I need to own this decision, and I have made it.
I think it is time to renew the fight. I do not want to look back and wonder if my help was near. I want to fight back. I want to defeat the evil thing that is climbing the hill to take my life. Winning is not important, to resist is.
Please pray for us. Every new treatment comes with anxiety. We will not start this for several weeks. Pray that if this is not the right thing for me to do that my heart will tell me. Pray that my husband's wisdom will help in guiding me for he too must live with the consequences. I do not want him to look back and wonder if our help was near and we surrendered too soon. Thank you for your love and friendship.
Love, Marj.
Down the Road - August 31, 2008
To my dear friends:
We have all been told that cars are dangerous and that many will die while driving. Suppose you are told that you will die while driving your car. If you are told that you will die the next time you drive your car, you will probably not drive it. If that news comes to you after you are in it and are not able to get out, the trip will be frightening and all you will think about is when, where, how. However, if you are told that you will die in a car crash at some time and it won't be very soon, but soon enough, you will be wary for a while but then lose some of the edge. Finally, you will drive as normal until there is a narrow escape and then you will be wary again. This pattern will repeat itself many times and then one day that accident will happen and you will die.
A friend of mine just found out that he has a terminal disease. It will likely take his life in a short time. He is frightened. He's a Christian and knows he is going to Heaven but there is more to this than knowing you are going to Heaven. There is good reason why God is the only one who truly knows when we will die.
I remember when we first heard that I had cancer. I was as frightened as if I was in the car that was going to crash immediately. It was all I could think about and it never gave me comfort, but the crash never happened. I realized that the journey was longer than I had anticipated. I saw that there was beauty to be seen and experienced along the way. Many times, I forgot about the crash and sat back to enjoy the ride. Other times, the ride would get scary. New tumors would be found. Surgeries that seemed simple became complicated. Treatments that seemed routine came close to taking my life. I was back to the same frightening place where death seemed imminent.
In those times of fear, the only answer has been the Lord. Jesus Christ has sent the Comforter for such a time as this. He reminds me that even if this is the last time I will ride down this road, He won't leave. He reminds me of the passages I read when the road was smooth and comforting. He sings the songs in my head that I love so much. He uses my husband to remind me of the closeness and strength of love that He has for me.
I wish that I could say that I don't ever think about the end of the road anymore, but I do. Not with as much dread as I used to. God has given me grace in this area and I know He will continue to do so as I need it. He will be with me as I go through that crash and land on the Heaven side of life. Then, He will rejoice with me.
Right now, I am cruising. I am headed down the road, not paying much attention to the eventual outcome. This cancer and I are cohabitating for as long as it behaves. I am not taking chemo and we are watching the tumors' behavior with CT scans every two months. So far, there has little to no change in the tumors. As long as that continues, we will cruise along and enjoy the scenery. I know that there will come a time, maybe soon, maybe later, when we will have to accept the invasion of these tumors or fight for the territory of my body. That bump in the road is not now and so I think I will leave it for the Lord. When it is time, we will talk about it. If it scares me then I know that I am not alone. I will go through the scary stuff with the Comforter at my side.
Please pray that this recurrent cancer stays quiet. It does have side effects that are uncomfortable for some part of every day. They cause pressure to my colon, which makes it angry, especially in the afternoon. There are tumors that ache when I move and others that are rubbed by clothing and get painful. All of these are things I can tolerate. They don't come close to what chemo does to me and they do not interfere with my ability to work, play, workout, or run. So they are small irritations that just remind me that this car is still on a crash course. Help me to relax with the ride and enjoy the freedoms I have right now. Pray for my friend as he begins this journey. I know the route and I know the Comforter. Pray that the two of them will find a close relationship.
With all my love, Marj.
We have all been told that cars are dangerous and that many will die while driving. Suppose you are told that you will die while driving your car. If you are told that you will die the next time you drive your car, you will probably not drive it. If that news comes to you after you are in it and are not able to get out, the trip will be frightening and all you will think about is when, where, how. However, if you are told that you will die in a car crash at some time and it won't be very soon, but soon enough, you will be wary for a while but then lose some of the edge. Finally, you will drive as normal until there is a narrow escape and then you will be wary again. This pattern will repeat itself many times and then one day that accident will happen and you will die.
A friend of mine just found out that he has a terminal disease. It will likely take his life in a short time. He is frightened. He's a Christian and knows he is going to Heaven but there is more to this than knowing you are going to Heaven. There is good reason why God is the only one who truly knows when we will die.
I remember when we first heard that I had cancer. I was as frightened as if I was in the car that was going to crash immediately. It was all I could think about and it never gave me comfort, but the crash never happened. I realized that the journey was longer than I had anticipated. I saw that there was beauty to be seen and experienced along the way. Many times, I forgot about the crash and sat back to enjoy the ride. Other times, the ride would get scary. New tumors would be found. Surgeries that seemed simple became complicated. Treatments that seemed routine came close to taking my life. I was back to the same frightening place where death seemed imminent.
In those times of fear, the only answer has been the Lord. Jesus Christ has sent the Comforter for such a time as this. He reminds me that even if this is the last time I will ride down this road, He won't leave. He reminds me of the passages I read when the road was smooth and comforting. He sings the songs in my head that I love so much. He uses my husband to remind me of the closeness and strength of love that He has for me.
I wish that I could say that I don't ever think about the end of the road anymore, but I do. Not with as much dread as I used to. God has given me grace in this area and I know He will continue to do so as I need it. He will be with me as I go through that crash and land on the Heaven side of life. Then, He will rejoice with me.
Right now, I am cruising. I am headed down the road, not paying much attention to the eventual outcome. This cancer and I are cohabitating for as long as it behaves. I am not taking chemo and we are watching the tumors' behavior with CT scans every two months. So far, there has little to no change in the tumors. As long as that continues, we will cruise along and enjoy the scenery. I know that there will come a time, maybe soon, maybe later, when we will have to accept the invasion of these tumors or fight for the territory of my body. That bump in the road is not now and so I think I will leave it for the Lord. When it is time, we will talk about it. If it scares me then I know that I am not alone. I will go through the scary stuff with the Comforter at my side.
Please pray that this recurrent cancer stays quiet. It does have side effects that are uncomfortable for some part of every day. They cause pressure to my colon, which makes it angry, especially in the afternoon. There are tumors that ache when I move and others that are rubbed by clothing and get painful. All of these are things I can tolerate. They don't come close to what chemo does to me and they do not interfere with my ability to work, play, workout, or run. So they are small irritations that just remind me that this car is still on a crash course. Help me to relax with the ride and enjoy the freedoms I have right now. Pray for my friend as he begins this journey. I know the route and I know the Comforter. Pray that the two of them will find a close relationship.
With all my love, Marj.
Pacing the Climb - August 1, 2008
To my dear friends:
The climb from Onion Valley is a 2000 foot rise from the trail head to the Kearsarge Pass which crosses the Sierra Nevada range. It is a one and a half mile trail to the summit. From that point the trail runs twelve miles down hill on a gentle slope. Lee and I are carrying moderate packs for a three-day hike. As we start the climb, I am already aware of the altitude but, determine to just over-breathe and make the climb. We need to be over the pass and in the next valley before dark to be safe and have a place to camp.
Lee is having more trouble then I with the altitude and requires rest stops several times along the way. At first I am surprised by his need to rest, then I am alarmed. Finally, I realize that we will not make the summit today. Lee has not acclimatized to the 8,500 foot altitude and will have to return to the lower elevation.
The next day we try the climb. He does better but half way to the summit he begins to hallucinate and talk of things that have not happened. Again we return to base camp.
This is frustrating for me. I am a climber and love going up. The pressure energizes me. I would prefer never to stop, just keep pushing. Then I realize that there is no way that Lee is going to make this hike. It doesn't matter that most of it is downhill. He cannot overcome altitude sickness and shortness of breath to make the summit, especially with a pack.
There begins a great upheaval in my heart. I am greatly concerned about Lee, but I also want to get to the summit. I don't want to push Lee but I want to push myself all the way. I find that I cannot have both.
We spend another day at the trailhead doing logistical things for our friends coming from the other side. Finally, knowing that we will not make this hike, we shed our packs and make a day hike out of it. At least we can try to get to the summit and see what lay ahead. Lee has acclimatized a bit and is willing to try to accommodate my need to finish what we started to some degree. We make it to the summit, with several stops along the way. I am gratified to know that I have been at the highest pass of the Sierras and we return to the trailhead feeling like we accomplished something.
This cancer is not unlike that climb. Many times I have tried to make it to the top encumbered by fears, anger and an urgency to get over the top. God has stopped me many times. He has made me rest and even sent me back down the mountain. I have not been happy with everything He has done.
Today, we are back at the trailhead. Acclimatizing to real life and waiting for the right time. This last chemotherapy was very hard on my body. By the time it was finished, my body was not rebounding as it had in the past. It was time to come off the mountain. I could no longer push for the summit. God had deemed it time for a rest. I admit to you that I wasn't very happy about the idea. I am afraid of rest breaks feeling as if the enemy is lurking on the sidelines just waiting for me to stop. God, however, has ordained this rest and He will watch the enemy. My job is to get ready for the next assault.
We descended our mountain less than a week ago. The decision was to leave all treatment for two months. Take a rest. I will have a physical exam in August and a CT scan in September. If there are any problems at those times, we will address them. My job is to build my body and my spirit back up.
I find that the spirit is easier to build at this point. I have accepted the rest and am shifting into normal life. I am redoing a bible study I wrote years ago which is forcing me to focus on God's word. That is in addition to daily prayer and Bible reading. My time with the Lord has not diminished. It has deepened.
The physical takes more discipline. I have to plan meals, work out on my treadmill and Bowflex machines. There is also a need to reduce the number of drugs in my body at one time. When I am doing chemotherapy, several drugs that are habit forming make life much more livable. I am now working at removing those from my daily life. I know that I will be back on them if we do chemotherapy again, but at the time, I need to get off them.
All of this to prepare for the next climb. I want to be less encumbered, more fit and ready for the summit. As with any trailhead, I can look at the maps and ask others about the trail, but I will not know the trail until I walk it. This trail may be chemotherapy. It may be surgery. Both are a possibility. It may even be nothing. Whatever it is, I will be ready in spirit and body because God has designed the rest and He will give me the strength and discipline to be ready.
You have been the backbone of my strength through your prayers. This is not a time for me to sit back and forget the urgency of God's leading. I ask that you do not relent in your prayers. God has a plan and we are willing to follow that plan. Will you help us with your prayers and encouragement?
Thank you,
Love, Marj.
The climb from Onion Valley is a 2000 foot rise from the trail head to the Kearsarge Pass which crosses the Sierra Nevada range. It is a one and a half mile trail to the summit. From that point the trail runs twelve miles down hill on a gentle slope. Lee and I are carrying moderate packs for a three-day hike. As we start the climb, I am already aware of the altitude but, determine to just over-breathe and make the climb. We need to be over the pass and in the next valley before dark to be safe and have a place to camp.
Lee is having more trouble then I with the altitude and requires rest stops several times along the way. At first I am surprised by his need to rest, then I am alarmed. Finally, I realize that we will not make the summit today. Lee has not acclimatized to the 8,500 foot altitude and will have to return to the lower elevation.
The next day we try the climb. He does better but half way to the summit he begins to hallucinate and talk of things that have not happened. Again we return to base camp.
This is frustrating for me. I am a climber and love going up. The pressure energizes me. I would prefer never to stop, just keep pushing. Then I realize that there is no way that Lee is going to make this hike. It doesn't matter that most of it is downhill. He cannot overcome altitude sickness and shortness of breath to make the summit, especially with a pack.
There begins a great upheaval in my heart. I am greatly concerned about Lee, but I also want to get to the summit. I don't want to push Lee but I want to push myself all the way. I find that I cannot have both.
We spend another day at the trailhead doing logistical things for our friends coming from the other side. Finally, knowing that we will not make this hike, we shed our packs and make a day hike out of it. At least we can try to get to the summit and see what lay ahead. Lee has acclimatized a bit and is willing to try to accommodate my need to finish what we started to some degree. We make it to the summit, with several stops along the way. I am gratified to know that I have been at the highest pass of the Sierras and we return to the trailhead feeling like we accomplished something.
This cancer is not unlike that climb. Many times I have tried to make it to the top encumbered by fears, anger and an urgency to get over the top. God has stopped me many times. He has made me rest and even sent me back down the mountain. I have not been happy with everything He has done.
Today, we are back at the trailhead. Acclimatizing to real life and waiting for the right time. This last chemotherapy was very hard on my body. By the time it was finished, my body was not rebounding as it had in the past. It was time to come off the mountain. I could no longer push for the summit. God had deemed it time for a rest. I admit to you that I wasn't very happy about the idea. I am afraid of rest breaks feeling as if the enemy is lurking on the sidelines just waiting for me to stop. God, however, has ordained this rest and He will watch the enemy. My job is to get ready for the next assault.
We descended our mountain less than a week ago. The decision was to leave all treatment for two months. Take a rest. I will have a physical exam in August and a CT scan in September. If there are any problems at those times, we will address them. My job is to build my body and my spirit back up.
I find that the spirit is easier to build at this point. I have accepted the rest and am shifting into normal life. I am redoing a bible study I wrote years ago which is forcing me to focus on God's word. That is in addition to daily prayer and Bible reading. My time with the Lord has not diminished. It has deepened.
The physical takes more discipline. I have to plan meals, work out on my treadmill and Bowflex machines. There is also a need to reduce the number of drugs in my body at one time. When I am doing chemotherapy, several drugs that are habit forming make life much more livable. I am now working at removing those from my daily life. I know that I will be back on them if we do chemotherapy again, but at the time, I need to get off them.
All of this to prepare for the next climb. I want to be less encumbered, more fit and ready for the summit. As with any trailhead, I can look at the maps and ask others about the trail, but I will not know the trail until I walk it. This trail may be chemotherapy. It may be surgery. Both are a possibility. It may even be nothing. Whatever it is, I will be ready in spirit and body because God has designed the rest and He will give me the strength and discipline to be ready.
You have been the backbone of my strength through your prayers. This is not a time for me to sit back and forget the urgency of God's leading. I ask that you do not relent in your prayers. God has a plan and we are willing to follow that plan. Will you help us with your prayers and encouragement?
Thank you,
Love, Marj.
Blind Eyes - July 7, 2008
To my dear Friends:
Isaiah 6: 10 "Make the heart of this people calloused; make their ears dull and close their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts, and turn and be healed." (NIV)
We are now living in a time when we cannot see God's plan. Lee and I have gone the distance with this last series of chemotherapy treatments. We know very little. The tumors are still present, possibly smaller, but still there. We will have a CT scan on July 17 to determine how effective the chemo has been. At that time, we will decide the next step. At present, we don't know the options. We are not aware of God's plan, or man's for that matter. I feel like the people of Judah that Isaiah is talking about. My eyes have been closed and my ears dulled.
God closed the eyes and ears of His people so that they would not repent and receive mercy. That doesn't sound like a merciful God but what He had in mind was bigger than temporary mercy. The people of Judah needed to go through the exile so that they would deepen their relationship with God. If He saved them too soon, the exile would be prolonged and God did not want that. God also knew that, as with Nineveh, if the people repented He would provide mercy. He is a merciful God. Therefore, His only choice was not to allow this people to see His plan until the plan was complete.
I wish I could say it was a good time for the people of Judah but it was not. Many were killed, taken captive, or left destitute but in the end, God's plan to bring the people back to Him was complete. The exile ended, the temple rebuilt, and their eyes and ears opened.
Lee and I are now living in that "exile" time. We do not see God's plan. We have asked for it, but find no answer. We must live by faith. God has not changed. We can look back and see His loving hand in so many events of our lives. There is no reason to think that He is not involved in the current events. We have learned, over time, to let God control things and we will go with the flow. That has been difficult in this silent time.
During this last treatment series, both Lee and I became anxious over the inaction. We interpreted it as a lack of care by our doctors, even a sense of abandonment. Our response was to try to control things ourselves. I found myself trying to get doctors to do what I wanted and Lee was returning to his "Marine" stance of protecting his wife at all cost. We were not happy and the relationship we have worked so hard to develop with our doctors was in jeopardy. We felt like no one was listening. Too much of our energy was spent trying to manage things.
One night, in an evening prayer, I called out to God and just asked Him why? What was going on and how had things gotten so far out of whack? In the morning, in our regular Bible reading, we read the verses in Isaiah 6. My body immediately relaxed as I realized that God had purposely blinded our eyes-- why?
For the people in Isaiah's time it was to bring about a greater purpose. In my life, it may be the same. He may have something that is more important than my understanding His plan. He is requiring us to live by faith; not allow the plan to drive our life. Make the days count for something bigger. Start each day to do something for Christ. Enjoy the time for now and let the plan take care of itself. Give control back to God.
We are walking blind. The tumors are still there. We don't know if the doctors will try to treat it with more chemotherapy, surgery or do nothing. Each of those ideas takes a little evaluation and prayer for Lee and me.
The idea of more chemotherapy rattles my brain. For me, the chemo has been difficult, but not debilitating. It leaves me constantly sick and weak, but has not stopped me from doing what I want to do. I see it only as a matter of time. Each chemo makes me sicker and weaker; I don't think I can do it indefinitely.
Surgery is something Lee fears more than I. I think part of it is because he is not allowed to participate. As soon as I am wheeled away, he is left to wait and then watch the recovery process. He feels helpless. I like surgery because it is quick and aggressive. The problem with surgery for these tumors is that there are about 13 of them in varying sizes all through my abdomen. It would be a large surgery and two of the tumors will be difficult to get at and may cause me to need a colostomy. There is also the problem of getting all the cancer. If one cell is left then the surgery has only prolonged the time before the cancer will grow into something that must be eventually dealt with again.
A third option is to let it go. The tumors are not in any organ, but in time, they will likely grow and assault the organs, which can be fatal. There is no suggestion of how long that would take since we have not seen any typical behavior in these tumors.
If there are other options for me at this time, we don't know what they are. Certainly, one is God's healing and that is always possible. We do not know if that is part of His plan. It would be our desire by any means that He chooses. At this point, He has not revealed it to us. Our exile is one of uncertainty. It seems our best option is to have faith and trust that God's will be done.
Please pray for God's will to be done. We are but servants to our Lord, Jesus Christ. We want His will to be done in all parts of our lives. This cancer consumes a lot or our life and we would rather it didn't. Help us, through your prayers, to know how to respond to doctors, to each other and to the many people we meet in this process. Help us to be a light to others and to be that remnant that does not go into exile. I would pray that God would open our eyes and ears to His plan, but only if the exile is over. If it is for His purpose that our eyes have been shut, then so be it.
Thank you for your continued prayer. We will let you know what it going on as it is revealed to us.
With all my love, Marj.
Isaiah 6: 10 "Make the heart of this people calloused; make their ears dull and close their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts, and turn and be healed." (NIV)
We are now living in a time when we cannot see God's plan. Lee and I have gone the distance with this last series of chemotherapy treatments. We know very little. The tumors are still present, possibly smaller, but still there. We will have a CT scan on July 17 to determine how effective the chemo has been. At that time, we will decide the next step. At present, we don't know the options. We are not aware of God's plan, or man's for that matter. I feel like the people of Judah that Isaiah is talking about. My eyes have been closed and my ears dulled.
God closed the eyes and ears of His people so that they would not repent and receive mercy. That doesn't sound like a merciful God but what He had in mind was bigger than temporary mercy. The people of Judah needed to go through the exile so that they would deepen their relationship with God. If He saved them too soon, the exile would be prolonged and God did not want that. God also knew that, as with Nineveh, if the people repented He would provide mercy. He is a merciful God. Therefore, His only choice was not to allow this people to see His plan until the plan was complete.
I wish I could say it was a good time for the people of Judah but it was not. Many were killed, taken captive, or left destitute but in the end, God's plan to bring the people back to Him was complete. The exile ended, the temple rebuilt, and their eyes and ears opened.
Lee and I are now living in that "exile" time. We do not see God's plan. We have asked for it, but find no answer. We must live by faith. God has not changed. We can look back and see His loving hand in so many events of our lives. There is no reason to think that He is not involved in the current events. We have learned, over time, to let God control things and we will go with the flow. That has been difficult in this silent time.
During this last treatment series, both Lee and I became anxious over the inaction. We interpreted it as a lack of care by our doctors, even a sense of abandonment. Our response was to try to control things ourselves. I found myself trying to get doctors to do what I wanted and Lee was returning to his "Marine" stance of protecting his wife at all cost. We were not happy and the relationship we have worked so hard to develop with our doctors was in jeopardy. We felt like no one was listening. Too much of our energy was spent trying to manage things.
One night, in an evening prayer, I called out to God and just asked Him why? What was going on and how had things gotten so far out of whack? In the morning, in our regular Bible reading, we read the verses in Isaiah 6. My body immediately relaxed as I realized that God had purposely blinded our eyes-- why?
For the people in Isaiah's time it was to bring about a greater purpose. In my life, it may be the same. He may have something that is more important than my understanding His plan. He is requiring us to live by faith; not allow the plan to drive our life. Make the days count for something bigger. Start each day to do something for Christ. Enjoy the time for now and let the plan take care of itself. Give control back to God.
We are walking blind. The tumors are still there. We don't know if the doctors will try to treat it with more chemotherapy, surgery or do nothing. Each of those ideas takes a little evaluation and prayer for Lee and me.
The idea of more chemotherapy rattles my brain. For me, the chemo has been difficult, but not debilitating. It leaves me constantly sick and weak, but has not stopped me from doing what I want to do. I see it only as a matter of time. Each chemo makes me sicker and weaker; I don't think I can do it indefinitely.
Surgery is something Lee fears more than I. I think part of it is because he is not allowed to participate. As soon as I am wheeled away, he is left to wait and then watch the recovery process. He feels helpless. I like surgery because it is quick and aggressive. The problem with surgery for these tumors is that there are about 13 of them in varying sizes all through my abdomen. It would be a large surgery and two of the tumors will be difficult to get at and may cause me to need a colostomy. There is also the problem of getting all the cancer. If one cell is left then the surgery has only prolonged the time before the cancer will grow into something that must be eventually dealt with again.
A third option is to let it go. The tumors are not in any organ, but in time, they will likely grow and assault the organs, which can be fatal. There is no suggestion of how long that would take since we have not seen any typical behavior in these tumors.
If there are other options for me at this time, we don't know what they are. Certainly, one is God's healing and that is always possible. We do not know if that is part of His plan. It would be our desire by any means that He chooses. At this point, He has not revealed it to us. Our exile is one of uncertainty. It seems our best option is to have faith and trust that God's will be done.
Please pray for God's will to be done. We are but servants to our Lord, Jesus Christ. We want His will to be done in all parts of our lives. This cancer consumes a lot or our life and we would rather it didn't. Help us, through your prayers, to know how to respond to doctors, to each other and to the many people we meet in this process. Help us to be a light to others and to be that remnant that does not go into exile. I would pray that God would open our eyes and ears to His plan, but only if the exile is over. If it is for His purpose that our eyes have been shut, then so be it.
Thank you for your continued prayer. We will let you know what it going on as it is revealed to us.
With all my love, Marj.
Lost - June 15, 2008
To my dear friends:
The sky was turning silver and the sound of thunder over my right shoulder suggested that this would be a good night to find shelter. I was in the Sierra Nevada's between alpine huts. I was lost only because I didn't know where I needed to go to get to a hut. There are several in the area and I had been on the trails for two days. I needed shelter, time to clean up and restock. A bear was following me, as he had been, for more than a day. I pulled out my map and tried to think. These were the days before cell phones and GPS'. A topographic map was your best friend. I knew where I had been and I thought I knew where I was going but I should have been there yesterday. I wasn't afraid. In the Sierras, everywhere gets back to somewhere. It's too well populated and I always carried enough food and water to walk out of any area. However, knowing you will eventually get out and not knowing if you will sleep in a gully with a bear are two entirely different things. I set my bearings with my trusty compass and walked on. Two hours later the glow of an alpine hut filled the forest, "Ah, a place to stop for the night and avoid the storm".
That is a feeling I have never forgotten.
I have always been more comfortable with being lost than those who are with me. My husband hates it when I get us lost, especially on foot. He knows it means more steps than he wants to take. He has become wary and tries to assure himself of the route home in case I lose the way. I find myself lost in stores, forests, parks, anywhere you walk. When I walk, my head is down so that I don't trip. I see ants, bugs, and rocks but I don't see signs or significant landmarks. The other problem is that when I turn around it looks different than it did the other way. It confuses me and I just don't know where I am. I can't run the script backwards. What bothers others is that it doesn't much bother me. I always believe I will get back to where I am going. So far, I have been right.
With this cancer, I feel lost. I am not as comfortable with it as with a trail. I am walking with my head down. I see all the little things; the chemo, blood counts, bills, drugs, aches and pains. Much like the rocks, if I am not careful they will trip me up. This last week has been a little more difficult. My body has decided to become anemic in response to the chemotherapy. Usually it takes six weeks to knock it down to blood transfusion level. This time it only took three. I don't know where we are going with this. I can't find the hut for shelter. I think of all the ifs and they don't make sense. I have one more round of chemo. Will I need a transfusion for that one? Will my body even be ready to take the poison of the chemo and drugs? What if I miss that round? I am stressed over questions that can't be answered. Lost in a forest of trees that have no directions on them. Where is the topo map?
Then I realize there is no map. Nobody knows where we are going. When I was young and traveling the Sierras alone, I would laugh when I got lost because I couldn't be lost, I didn't know where I was going in the first place. Now, without moving, I feel lost because I can't see where I am going, yet, I must go there anyway. Only the steps are guided and most are not guided by me. I am given a plan for the next three weeks. It changes at least three times before it is accomplished. Then we start the next plan. I just walk from hut to hut, shelter to shelter. Then begin again on a plan for the next three weeks. I guess that I am getting weary of plans that do not lead to a destination. I can't hitchhike to another "forest" and start there. I must stay with the plan and see it to the end.
In actuality, I have a map for this hike. I just don't always get it out and put it all together. Sometimes, I am too busy hiking through the plan to step back and look at the whole picture. Scripture provides the map for this walk. It not only lays out the daily plan but also the big picture so I know where I am going and how I am to walk. Like my big forest topo map, there are no little ants, rocks, or bears on the map just steady, non-changing landscape. Verses that are always true, guidelines that will not change. People who have been where I am and beyond in their walk. How many times did I wish someone would happen down the trail who had been where I was and could tell me where I was going? Scripture has people like that. I see their life story and am right in the middle of it. They point ahead to the cross and remind me that is the light in the forest. This will give me shelter. This is the place where the bear cannot go and the storm stays outside.
There is no word in the Bible for cancer. I'm not sure there was cancer back then. It doesn't really matter. People had pain, affliction, fear, hopelessness, anger, and felt lost. The remedy was the same, Jesus. It's the same today. I find that I am so caught up with my little trail that I fail to focus on Jesus. I feel my joy seeping out of me as I count every little lost red blood cell. I get lost in the minutia of the days. I must return to Jesus. I have to keep telling people about Jesus. I must live for the adventure He puts into my life.
You are the people who pray for me. I know that many of you are praying for a miracle. Thank you for that. I am sure that God still does miracles and your prayers can be powerful. Pray for the miracle of joy for me. I need to be excited to be alive. I need to have my life overflow into the lives of others. I need to find my way back to the arms of Jesus and live for today. Please continue to pray.
With all my love: Marj.
The sky was turning silver and the sound of thunder over my right shoulder suggested that this would be a good night to find shelter. I was in the Sierra Nevada's between alpine huts. I was lost only because I didn't know where I needed to go to get to a hut. There are several in the area and I had been on the trails for two days. I needed shelter, time to clean up and restock. A bear was following me, as he had been, for more than a day. I pulled out my map and tried to think. These were the days before cell phones and GPS'. A topographic map was your best friend. I knew where I had been and I thought I knew where I was going but I should have been there yesterday. I wasn't afraid. In the Sierras, everywhere gets back to somewhere. It's too well populated and I always carried enough food and water to walk out of any area. However, knowing you will eventually get out and not knowing if you will sleep in a gully with a bear are two entirely different things. I set my bearings with my trusty compass and walked on. Two hours later the glow of an alpine hut filled the forest, "Ah, a place to stop for the night and avoid the storm".
That is a feeling I have never forgotten.
I have always been more comfortable with being lost than those who are with me. My husband hates it when I get us lost, especially on foot. He knows it means more steps than he wants to take. He has become wary and tries to assure himself of the route home in case I lose the way. I find myself lost in stores, forests, parks, anywhere you walk. When I walk, my head is down so that I don't trip. I see ants, bugs, and rocks but I don't see signs or significant landmarks. The other problem is that when I turn around it looks different than it did the other way. It confuses me and I just don't know where I am. I can't run the script backwards. What bothers others is that it doesn't much bother me. I always believe I will get back to where I am going. So far, I have been right.
With this cancer, I feel lost. I am not as comfortable with it as with a trail. I am walking with my head down. I see all the little things; the chemo, blood counts, bills, drugs, aches and pains. Much like the rocks, if I am not careful they will trip me up. This last week has been a little more difficult. My body has decided to become anemic in response to the chemotherapy. Usually it takes six weeks to knock it down to blood transfusion level. This time it only took three. I don't know where we are going with this. I can't find the hut for shelter. I think of all the ifs and they don't make sense. I have one more round of chemo. Will I need a transfusion for that one? Will my body even be ready to take the poison of the chemo and drugs? What if I miss that round? I am stressed over questions that can't be answered. Lost in a forest of trees that have no directions on them. Where is the topo map?
Then I realize there is no map. Nobody knows where we are going. When I was young and traveling the Sierras alone, I would laugh when I got lost because I couldn't be lost, I didn't know where I was going in the first place. Now, without moving, I feel lost because I can't see where I am going, yet, I must go there anyway. Only the steps are guided and most are not guided by me. I am given a plan for the next three weeks. It changes at least three times before it is accomplished. Then we start the next plan. I just walk from hut to hut, shelter to shelter. Then begin again on a plan for the next three weeks. I guess that I am getting weary of plans that do not lead to a destination. I can't hitchhike to another "forest" and start there. I must stay with the plan and see it to the end.
In actuality, I have a map for this hike. I just don't always get it out and put it all together. Sometimes, I am too busy hiking through the plan to step back and look at the whole picture. Scripture provides the map for this walk. It not only lays out the daily plan but also the big picture so I know where I am going and how I am to walk. Like my big forest topo map, there are no little ants, rocks, or bears on the map just steady, non-changing landscape. Verses that are always true, guidelines that will not change. People who have been where I am and beyond in their walk. How many times did I wish someone would happen down the trail who had been where I was and could tell me where I was going? Scripture has people like that. I see their life story and am right in the middle of it. They point ahead to the cross and remind me that is the light in the forest. This will give me shelter. This is the place where the bear cannot go and the storm stays outside.
There is no word in the Bible for cancer. I'm not sure there was cancer back then. It doesn't really matter. People had pain, affliction, fear, hopelessness, anger, and felt lost. The remedy was the same, Jesus. It's the same today. I find that I am so caught up with my little trail that I fail to focus on Jesus. I feel my joy seeping out of me as I count every little lost red blood cell. I get lost in the minutia of the days. I must return to Jesus. I have to keep telling people about Jesus. I must live for the adventure He puts into my life.
You are the people who pray for me. I know that many of you are praying for a miracle. Thank you for that. I am sure that God still does miracles and your prayers can be powerful. Pray for the miracle of joy for me. I need to be excited to be alive. I need to have my life overflow into the lives of others. I need to find my way back to the arms of Jesus and live for today. Please continue to pray.
With all my love: Marj.
This is Grace - May 14. 2008
To My Friends:
We are now in the time of fickle weather. One day it is cold and feels like rain and the next it seems like summer is upon us. In some ways, it is a time of hope. A reminder of what is to come for those of us who merely endure the winter, for others, a time of despair, for the cool weather that will quickly be forgotten. God makes the middle seasons just to remind us of the extremes before we reach them. He allows us to find the right clothing, packed in the back of the closet. He gets our blood to adjust to the temperatures. He teaches us to layer clothes and park the car differently. He readies us without our knowing it. Then, when the real seasons of summer or winter hit, we are ready, and they seem so short. I am ready for the summer. Winter always seems long though this year it has not been severe or long. For me, summer would be a good season to keep. The consequences would not make it so but I can dream. Maybe in heaven, God will let me have summer all year, without the urban sprawl.
This summer will see the end of this round of chemotherapy. I have been on a regimen of five days of intravenous Topotecan and four days of oral Etoposide. These are the same drugs I took a year ago but intra-peritoneal, in to the abdomen rather than IV. It worked quite well the first time in removing much of the cancer, but six months later several small tumors, about 1/2 inch across, appeared in the subcutaneous and muscle areas of the abdominal wall. Only two were in the pelvis area.
The cycle continues, the next week, with Nupogen, to raise white blood cells for one week, and two shots of Procrit for raising red blood cells. At the end of this portion, I get a week to recover and then start the twenty-one day cycle again.
I am presently on the first week of the fourth cycle and the side effects are minimal. The chemotherapy keeps me agitated but there is little pain. I watch the drop of blood markers and know that the effects of that will trap the next week in fatigue and pain. The second week is shots and their effect is to try to build the blood but what I feel is joint pain from the shots and the chemo. It also destroys the lining of the digestive and respiratory tract making it painful to do the most rudimentary parts of living like eating and breathing. Therefore, the second week is a balance of drugs. The better we bring up the white blood cells the less pain. The more pain the more pain medication is necessary to function. In the last three rounds, we have learned much and I would admit that the last time I was able to balance everything pretty well. In the first round, the pain got out of hand and required a day in the hospital to learn to control it. The second round found the red blood count dangerously low and required a day in the hospital to get a transfusion of two units of whole blood. The third round was manageable from home and I actually felt good.
The third part of the cycle is a week of rest. It will be a time to rebuild. The hope is usually that the blood returns to normal and we can start chemo on level ground. That has not truly happen the last round because I contracted Shingles in the middle of it. Another something to add to the mix, I guess. God has been good and allowed this to be a mild case. I have not had a lot of pain with it and He put the shingles in an area of my body where the clothing does not aggravate it nor does it show to the public and frighten them. Therefore, other than having to be antisocial, because it is contagious, I have seen only a little more pain, irritation, and poorer results in the rising of the blood to normal.
That tells you where I am medically. I do not usually lay all that out to you but every once in a while I realize that all of my daily life is colored by this medical stuff. My social life is seeing doctors; my daily routine is taking drugs, monitoring my fatigue and pain levels, wondering how long I will be able to work today, and then allowing my body to control where I go and how long I will be there. Much of what we plan to do for fun is cancelled weekly, but we still plan, and every once in a while, we get to do it, whatever it is. We scheduled ourselves to go to Ventura for a few days that we found vacant on our calendar. We canceled it in favor or working in the yard. To us, to work and find the simple things done seemed like more fun. It certainly was nice to see a new tree planted, drip lines ready for summer and all the roses ready for the next bloom cycle. Ventura will always be there and one wonders why two people who are retired and can rest anytime they want need to go to Ventura to rest anyhow. I do need a few days and nights in the mountains soon. My bones cry for the smell of pine and my feet haven't felt the sweetness of a trail in a very long time. This calls me and we will get there soon. A good prayer request if you are looking for one.
As you can see, planning for future is still in the works. We are always looking ahead. The here and now is planned for us. The future is not. I was sitting at this desk the other day and feeling just a little sorry for myself. The cycle had gone full course and not truly improved. Each day was filled with fatigue and pain and I had done little to glorify God. It is easy at those times to look in and see only the hard parts. Then a question came to mind; "What if it never gets better than this? Can you live with it?" My answer, "certainly, and with a lot better attitude than this." I'm not so bad off; I just have to redefine the normal again. Take steps to see the important things and get off myself.
The steps Lee and I take are purposeful to see that our attitude stays right. We read scripture together every day. That allows us to see the unchanging truth of God in a very changing world. It gives us an anchor and shouts of God's love and faithfulness. It keeps us thinking in the same way all day long. Then we pray together at least twice a day. Prayer takes our focus off us. We have friends in much greater need of prayer than us: Our friend that share crops for us in Kansas just watched a hailstorm ruin this year's crop; Our 18 year old friend spends most of every week in the hospital in great pain for ailments that are unknown to the doctors. Several friends live with pain much worse than mine daily with no sign of cure or let up. Suicide and death surround us from others who have made wrong decisions along the way, their families reeling from the percussion of their actions. Praise is also due for the new babies born to many, new families, weddings, healings and just joyous times in the midst of living is a fallen world. We are blessed far more than cursed as we live for Christ. Prayer is where you remember that. As Lee and I lift our hearts to God, He melts the fear, reminds us of His love for us, and cements the love we have for each other. We wouldn't miss it for the world.
Therefore, yes, I can live with this. We had a CT scan done two weeks ago. It was not as we had hoped but it was not bad either. The scan shows that the cancer is arrested. It has not grown in three months. That change in behavior means that the chemo is affecting the cancer's life. It is our hope that this is the turn around and the cancer will begin to reduce in size. In doing so, it also means new decisions at the end of these three months. Do we continue chemo, change chemo, stop chemo, or try surgery. The last choice is the least likely. I would look like Swiss cheese by the time they took all the tumors but it would not affect any organ and there is no guarantee that they would get all of every tumor. Somewhat like pulling weeds and leaving a root hair that wants to be a weed again. Therefore, chemo becomes the focal point. The doctor asked me if my quality of life would be so affected that I would not do another round of chemo. I just sat there and cried for a minute. My mind ran a rapid video of what each day looked like in my life and then in the life of so many others; not just the sick ones, hurt ones or the lonely ones but also the lost ones. In that short reflection, God reminded me that my quality of life is magnificent. Chemo is a tent that I live in but what happens in the tent cannot be covered. God has a plan for me, however long that plan is. My quality of life is just fine.
I stopped the images and told the doctor that I would be fine with whatever we, as a team feel is worthy of our time. I am open to whatever God puts in front of me. I believe He is using the medical team and Lee to help me decide and to work through whatever we decide. I am not alone and am very comfortable with what we have done, are doing, and will do.
Prayer is incredibly important. Lee and I need to do it to focus and find direction. We need to use prayer to see our proper place in the world in which we live. We need to know that you are praying. Many of you write back and assure me that you pray. I am excited by that and it gives me great joy. I hope that as you pray for me you also pray for yourself. If you will tell me how to pray for you, my prayers for you will be much more specific. I need to pray for you because, as you have seen in this letter, your needs make mine look manageable. I don't know how you do what you do except for the grace of God. So you see, as we look at each other's needs, ours pale. That is grace. Please pray, please write, please make God the center of your life and your days. It is all good and God is great.
With all my love, Marj.
We are now in the time of fickle weather. One day it is cold and feels like rain and the next it seems like summer is upon us. In some ways, it is a time of hope. A reminder of what is to come for those of us who merely endure the winter, for others, a time of despair, for the cool weather that will quickly be forgotten. God makes the middle seasons just to remind us of the extremes before we reach them. He allows us to find the right clothing, packed in the back of the closet. He gets our blood to adjust to the temperatures. He teaches us to layer clothes and park the car differently. He readies us without our knowing it. Then, when the real seasons of summer or winter hit, we are ready, and they seem so short. I am ready for the summer. Winter always seems long though this year it has not been severe or long. For me, summer would be a good season to keep. The consequences would not make it so but I can dream. Maybe in heaven, God will let me have summer all year, without the urban sprawl.
This summer will see the end of this round of chemotherapy. I have been on a regimen of five days of intravenous Topotecan and four days of oral Etoposide. These are the same drugs I took a year ago but intra-peritoneal, in to the abdomen rather than IV. It worked quite well the first time in removing much of the cancer, but six months later several small tumors, about 1/2 inch across, appeared in the subcutaneous and muscle areas of the abdominal wall. Only two were in the pelvis area.
The cycle continues, the next week, with Nupogen, to raise white blood cells for one week, and two shots of Procrit for raising red blood cells. At the end of this portion, I get a week to recover and then start the twenty-one day cycle again.
I am presently on the first week of the fourth cycle and the side effects are minimal. The chemotherapy keeps me agitated but there is little pain. I watch the drop of blood markers and know that the effects of that will trap the next week in fatigue and pain. The second week is shots and their effect is to try to build the blood but what I feel is joint pain from the shots and the chemo. It also destroys the lining of the digestive and respiratory tract making it painful to do the most rudimentary parts of living like eating and breathing. Therefore, the second week is a balance of drugs. The better we bring up the white blood cells the less pain. The more pain the more pain medication is necessary to function. In the last three rounds, we have learned much and I would admit that the last time I was able to balance everything pretty well. In the first round, the pain got out of hand and required a day in the hospital to learn to control it. The second round found the red blood count dangerously low and required a day in the hospital to get a transfusion of two units of whole blood. The third round was manageable from home and I actually felt good.
The third part of the cycle is a week of rest. It will be a time to rebuild. The hope is usually that the blood returns to normal and we can start chemo on level ground. That has not truly happen the last round because I contracted Shingles in the middle of it. Another something to add to the mix, I guess. God has been good and allowed this to be a mild case. I have not had a lot of pain with it and He put the shingles in an area of my body where the clothing does not aggravate it nor does it show to the public and frighten them. Therefore, other than having to be antisocial, because it is contagious, I have seen only a little more pain, irritation, and poorer results in the rising of the blood to normal.
That tells you where I am medically. I do not usually lay all that out to you but every once in a while I realize that all of my daily life is colored by this medical stuff. My social life is seeing doctors; my daily routine is taking drugs, monitoring my fatigue and pain levels, wondering how long I will be able to work today, and then allowing my body to control where I go and how long I will be there. Much of what we plan to do for fun is cancelled weekly, but we still plan, and every once in a while, we get to do it, whatever it is. We scheduled ourselves to go to Ventura for a few days that we found vacant on our calendar. We canceled it in favor or working in the yard. To us, to work and find the simple things done seemed like more fun. It certainly was nice to see a new tree planted, drip lines ready for summer and all the roses ready for the next bloom cycle. Ventura will always be there and one wonders why two people who are retired and can rest anytime they want need to go to Ventura to rest anyhow. I do need a few days and nights in the mountains soon. My bones cry for the smell of pine and my feet haven't felt the sweetness of a trail in a very long time. This calls me and we will get there soon. A good prayer request if you are looking for one.
As you can see, planning for future is still in the works. We are always looking ahead. The here and now is planned for us. The future is not. I was sitting at this desk the other day and feeling just a little sorry for myself. The cycle had gone full course and not truly improved. Each day was filled with fatigue and pain and I had done little to glorify God. It is easy at those times to look in and see only the hard parts. Then a question came to mind; "What if it never gets better than this? Can you live with it?" My answer, "certainly, and with a lot better attitude than this." I'm not so bad off; I just have to redefine the normal again. Take steps to see the important things and get off myself.
The steps Lee and I take are purposeful to see that our attitude stays right. We read scripture together every day. That allows us to see the unchanging truth of God in a very changing world. It gives us an anchor and shouts of God's love and faithfulness. It keeps us thinking in the same way all day long. Then we pray together at least twice a day. Prayer takes our focus off us. We have friends in much greater need of prayer than us: Our friend that share crops for us in Kansas just watched a hailstorm ruin this year's crop; Our 18 year old friend spends most of every week in the hospital in great pain for ailments that are unknown to the doctors. Several friends live with pain much worse than mine daily with no sign of cure or let up. Suicide and death surround us from others who have made wrong decisions along the way, their families reeling from the percussion of their actions. Praise is also due for the new babies born to many, new families, weddings, healings and just joyous times in the midst of living is a fallen world. We are blessed far more than cursed as we live for Christ. Prayer is where you remember that. As Lee and I lift our hearts to God, He melts the fear, reminds us of His love for us, and cements the love we have for each other. We wouldn't miss it for the world.
Therefore, yes, I can live with this. We had a CT scan done two weeks ago. It was not as we had hoped but it was not bad either. The scan shows that the cancer is arrested. It has not grown in three months. That change in behavior means that the chemo is affecting the cancer's life. It is our hope that this is the turn around and the cancer will begin to reduce in size. In doing so, it also means new decisions at the end of these three months. Do we continue chemo, change chemo, stop chemo, or try surgery. The last choice is the least likely. I would look like Swiss cheese by the time they took all the tumors but it would not affect any organ and there is no guarantee that they would get all of every tumor. Somewhat like pulling weeds and leaving a root hair that wants to be a weed again. Therefore, chemo becomes the focal point. The doctor asked me if my quality of life would be so affected that I would not do another round of chemo. I just sat there and cried for a minute. My mind ran a rapid video of what each day looked like in my life and then in the life of so many others; not just the sick ones, hurt ones or the lonely ones but also the lost ones. In that short reflection, God reminded me that my quality of life is magnificent. Chemo is a tent that I live in but what happens in the tent cannot be covered. God has a plan for me, however long that plan is. My quality of life is just fine.
I stopped the images and told the doctor that I would be fine with whatever we, as a team feel is worthy of our time. I am open to whatever God puts in front of me. I believe He is using the medical team and Lee to help me decide and to work through whatever we decide. I am not alone and am very comfortable with what we have done, are doing, and will do.
Prayer is incredibly important. Lee and I need to do it to focus and find direction. We need to use prayer to see our proper place in the world in which we live. We need to know that you are praying. Many of you write back and assure me that you pray. I am excited by that and it gives me great joy. I hope that as you pray for me you also pray for yourself. If you will tell me how to pray for you, my prayers for you will be much more specific. I need to pray for you because, as you have seen in this letter, your needs make mine look manageable. I don't know how you do what you do except for the grace of God. So you see, as we look at each other's needs, ours pale. That is grace. Please pray, please write, please make God the center of your life and your days. It is all good and God is great.
With all my love, Marj.
A Covenant Keeping God - April 20, 2008
Dear Friends:
I sat at the window peering at a blackened sky, giant, sloppy drops falling in sheets, made puddles the size of an Oldsmobile. The glove on my left hand well oiled and perfectly formed. I threw the ball in my right hand hard against the leather, almost to punish it for being so ready. This is baseball season, it is not supposed to rain. Tears flowed softly down my cheeks; my shirt was slowly looking like the landscape beyond the window.
I took off my uniform and hung it up. Pulled the hand-me-down jeans, third removed, from under my bed and a thrift store shirt, with a logo I did not understand, to cover my now changing torso. Today, I could not escape. I was home. I mumbled to myself, I hate it when God lies.
I felt that I had a covenant with God, I would not complain as long as He did not ruin my seasons. At the time, our relationship was not so secure. I knew God; He was to whom I prayed. He made the universe and He made me. That was about the extent of our relationship. I also knew that He didn't always listen and He didn't always keep my covenant.
He was not to be trusted. He was too much like my father. I kept hoping in Him but I could not trust Him. Intellectually, I knew this was not right but my heart was the one who talked to God, asked for safety, pleaded for peace, and laid silent waiting for the answers that never came. My heart needed a God who would not break the covenant, would not let a little girl fear the visits of the nights or the violence of the days. No one could show me that God.
That little girl still lives in this very mature adult. The difference is that I have experienced a God that will not let me go. He will keep His covenant. I know that from many trials and victories. Yet, late at night, when the pain is high and sleep will not come, the little girl returns. She wants her own way. She has never said, "Not my will but yours Lord." She still wants to make her own covenant and have God follow it.
This is the battle: How to silence the little girl who never knew her God; how does one take away the fear that holds no hope; how do I remind this little girl that she is only a product of pain, fear, and sleepless nights?
This is the struggle. I know this child is wrong. I know that God is close, He will hear and He will answer. I know there is hope. My hope is not just in a present day miracle, though I know that God can do that. My hope is mainly in the eternal life that is waiting. There I will be healed. I do not fear death. My fear is life. I do not know the future and it really doesn't look good. If God chooses for me to die of cancer, I cannot think that it will be pain free or leave me strong until the last day. That is when I forget that if God chooses this as a way for me to go home, He has a reason, and He will be with me through it. It will not be my strength but His. That is His covenant.
We are now in the third of six cycles of chemotherapy. I have spent two nights in the hospital. Once on the first cycle because pain levels were too high to think and once on the second cycle because I needed a transfusion to bring my red blood cells back up. At the end of the first cycle, I was frightened and felt abandoned. I knew the pain levels could go higher and I could not think of a good reason to continue the chemotherapy. The little girl was back. Knowing how to get her to leave, I started praying. I asked God to give me some assurance that I should keep this chemotherapy going. I did not know how He would do it but I just needed something because I was scared, weary and facing a husband who wanted me to keep going but was as scared as I was. The next morning I woke to a wonderful peace. I knew I should keep up the chemotherapy and that He would take care of the pain. This last cycle was almost pain free, even when my blood levels dropped. I know that God kept His covenant. He is a covenant keeping God.
Please pray that the blood levels will not drop quite as fast and that the pain levels will stay in tolerable amounts. I have surgery right after this round to replace the stint near my right kidney. It needs to be done and depends on my blood levels being just right. God has already intervened and moved the surgery a week so the blood will be better. Your prayers help in many ways.
Thank you so much. Marj.
I sat at the window peering at a blackened sky, giant, sloppy drops falling in sheets, made puddles the size of an Oldsmobile. The glove on my left hand well oiled and perfectly formed. I threw the ball in my right hand hard against the leather, almost to punish it for being so ready. This is baseball season, it is not supposed to rain. Tears flowed softly down my cheeks; my shirt was slowly looking like the landscape beyond the window.
I took off my uniform and hung it up. Pulled the hand-me-down jeans, third removed, from under my bed and a thrift store shirt, with a logo I did not understand, to cover my now changing torso. Today, I could not escape. I was home. I mumbled to myself, I hate it when God lies.
I felt that I had a covenant with God, I would not complain as long as He did not ruin my seasons. At the time, our relationship was not so secure. I knew God; He was to whom I prayed. He made the universe and He made me. That was about the extent of our relationship. I also knew that He didn't always listen and He didn't always keep my covenant.
He was not to be trusted. He was too much like my father. I kept hoping in Him but I could not trust Him. Intellectually, I knew this was not right but my heart was the one who talked to God, asked for safety, pleaded for peace, and laid silent waiting for the answers that never came. My heart needed a God who would not break the covenant, would not let a little girl fear the visits of the nights or the violence of the days. No one could show me that God.
That little girl still lives in this very mature adult. The difference is that I have experienced a God that will not let me go. He will keep His covenant. I know that from many trials and victories. Yet, late at night, when the pain is high and sleep will not come, the little girl returns. She wants her own way. She has never said, "Not my will but yours Lord." She still wants to make her own covenant and have God follow it.
This is the battle: How to silence the little girl who never knew her God; how does one take away the fear that holds no hope; how do I remind this little girl that she is only a product of pain, fear, and sleepless nights?
This is the struggle. I know this child is wrong. I know that God is close, He will hear and He will answer. I know there is hope. My hope is not just in a present day miracle, though I know that God can do that. My hope is mainly in the eternal life that is waiting. There I will be healed. I do not fear death. My fear is life. I do not know the future and it really doesn't look good. If God chooses for me to die of cancer, I cannot think that it will be pain free or leave me strong until the last day. That is when I forget that if God chooses this as a way for me to go home, He has a reason, and He will be with me through it. It will not be my strength but His. That is His covenant.
We are now in the third of six cycles of chemotherapy. I have spent two nights in the hospital. Once on the first cycle because pain levels were too high to think and once on the second cycle because I needed a transfusion to bring my red blood cells back up. At the end of the first cycle, I was frightened and felt abandoned. I knew the pain levels could go higher and I could not think of a good reason to continue the chemotherapy. The little girl was back. Knowing how to get her to leave, I started praying. I asked God to give me some assurance that I should keep this chemotherapy going. I did not know how He would do it but I just needed something because I was scared, weary and facing a husband who wanted me to keep going but was as scared as I was. The next morning I woke to a wonderful peace. I knew I should keep up the chemotherapy and that He would take care of the pain. This last cycle was almost pain free, even when my blood levels dropped. I know that God kept His covenant. He is a covenant keeping God.
Please pray that the blood levels will not drop quite as fast and that the pain levels will stay in tolerable amounts. I have surgery right after this round to replace the stint near my right kidney. It needs to be done and depends on my blood levels being just right. God has already intervened and moved the surgery a week so the blood will be better. Your prayers help in many ways.
Thank you so much. Marj.
God's Pictures - March 16, 2008
To my dear friends:
The visual image has always been a fascination for me. I was most enamored by the Polaroid Land Camera. It was the year of my senior prom that this camera became affordable by the middle class of America. The Polaroid, for those of you from later generations, was a camera that took pictures then developed the film by crushing layers of chemical as the film was pulled through rollers. You could watch the picture form in minutes as the chemicals worked. In time, the film developed to be as rich in color and accuracy as any film. The camera has become passé with the advent of one-hour photo and digital cameras.
What I liked about the Polaroid was the ability to see the picture so quickly. My landlady had just bought one and took pictures of my date and me before the prom. We looked at those pictures all the way to the prom and showed them to others while we were there. Though there had been no change from the earlier hours, it just seemed like we were looking back at a special time. So we would remember. I, the tomboy, in a beautiful gown and my date, the proverbial folksinger, in a well tailored tuxedo. Nothing either of us expected. The Polaroid saved that image until it burned into our memories. It was priceless. By the time we returned home, the tomboy and the folksinger had returned in form also. Only the picture would prove our potential.
I look back on so many pictures. Usually they are not of me because I am behind the lens but I remember the photo and where I have been. God, however, has been putting pictures of me in my head for a very long time, and sometimes, He opens the albums and shows me His handy work. His pictures are vivid reminders of His love and care.
My early years' album includes both the tender and fearful times. There is one when I could put my whole arm inside my father's hand and I relished in his bigness. As Pneumonia overtook my body, I lay looking at my parents' fear as fever took every ounce of my strength for many days. My father laying hot bricks at my feet as the fever turned to chills, my mother lying with me to warm my little body. I recall visions of ambulances and the penetrating cry of my mother at the word of my father's suicide. Quietly sitting alone in the garage on the fender of the last car he worked on, mourning his loss. As an athlete, winning in Softball, Volleyball, Basketball, and any other sport that came along only to feel empty when it was done. The quiet beauty of sitting at the top of the biggest tree in the valley for hours. Running through the grass until I could run no longer then fall on my back to breathe in the freshness of the soil and sod through heaving lungs.
My awakening years is a much more volatile album. Walking out of my home at sixteen to start a life of my own, alone, angry but confident of success. Simple stages: Walking back at twenty-five, successful, satisfied, but still angry; Hugging a child, who for the first time, felt the joy of just being cared for; Raising my fist in frustration as I screamed at my long dead father for missing my life.
The sweetest album has been my learning to walk with Jesus. It opens with getting married in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the night, to a man who loved me like Jesus. Later, standing before the cross of Jesus Christ and letting go of all I am for all He is. Then walking out of a church leaving my anger lying in the middle of the altar never to return to me.
The deepest album is this current one, one in which God has deepened my relationship with Christ beyond any I could have imagined. I would call it cancer but the truth is the cancer is only a catalyst for the relationship to be experienced. Therefore, I will call this album "love". It opens watching the last breaths of my sister as she lay dying from the ravages of ovarian cancer. Then walking across the grounds of the hospital and thanking God for loving her enough to take her home. The heady joy of dancing with Jesus as my husband embraced the same loving Christ that I had known for 10 years. Praying with my mother the night before she died that her wish to be with Jesus would be realized that night. Recalling my diagnosis of ovarian cancer at the age of fifty-eight. Then finding joy in a year of healing in my sixtieth year. The most recent picture; a rejoining the fight as the cancer returns.
So many pictures. God reminds me of them every time I read the beginning of Joshua. God gives Joshua a word picture of His faithfulness. He tells Joshua many times to be "strong and courageous." However, it is not a hollow set of words. He shows him in word pictures how He has been faithful to Joshua. He promises to "never leave him or forsake him". Joshua can believe it because God never has left or forsaken him. In the forty years that Joshua has been wandering with the Israelites he has remained strong and become a wise leader. He will lead the Israelites into the Promised Land. Moses cannot. Joshua's album will be completed. He has many pictures to look back on and know the promises of God are true.
I can say no less. Even when I did not know Him, He was there. I can count at least five times that I was miraculously saved from death. Yet, every day we are saved from death. Every day the sun rises and we begin again: A day to live for God or live for ourselves.
The album of my healing, though thin, is the newest of the albums. It is full of pictures of joy; birthday parties not expected, planting new trees for the future, and enjoying the days with my husband, all part of a grander theme to stay here for a while. Though God was there, He was not all encompassing. I needed to stretch and be wholly human for just a while. God knew it and He willingly gave me freedom from my intensity, knowing I would never be far from Him. Had He chosen to extend that freedom I would have stayed close to Him but on a much gentler road. With one simple CT scan, the road became straight, rocky, and complex. Fully and completely, I watched God for His every move. I wanted to know His heart, His desire, and His goal. And He said, "Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go" Joshua 1:8
I cannot say to you that I was happy when the picture of new cancer was revealed to me. To go back and do chemo again was a big decision. You may not think so. After all, the other option is death. Well, death means life eternal, beside the Lord that I love. Is it wise to prolong this life on earth to the extent that we protract the time to heaven? I do not know. Heaven is eternal and there is no time so maybe God has built into us a need to spend as much time here, it is the only place we can spend it. Have I done all that I need to do here? If not, maybe being healed is not a necessary condition.
Oh how I love this God. I pray that you love Him too. There are many great photographs in a life with Jesus Christ. What does your album look like? Give Him the praise. Thank you for your prayers for me. They are the work of Christ in you for me and I covet them always. I pray for you many times and will pray specifically if you will tell me your needs. I am presently in my third round of chemo. In this first set, the side effects seem to be tolerable, simple headaches, body aches, a deep thrombosis in the colon and wakefulness. Initial nausea medication is working well and not an issue after treatment. I will have nine days of chemo every three weeks for six cycles. Because many of the tumors are visible under my skin, we can watch for the effectiveness of treatment. If the tumors decrease in size then we will continue for the full run. If we see no progress in the next few rounds then we will look for other options. Please pray for success.
Thank you so much. Marj.
The visual image has always been a fascination for me. I was most enamored by the Polaroid Land Camera. It was the year of my senior prom that this camera became affordable by the middle class of America. The Polaroid, for those of you from later generations, was a camera that took pictures then developed the film by crushing layers of chemical as the film was pulled through rollers. You could watch the picture form in minutes as the chemicals worked. In time, the film developed to be as rich in color and accuracy as any film. The camera has become passé with the advent of one-hour photo and digital cameras.
What I liked about the Polaroid was the ability to see the picture so quickly. My landlady had just bought one and took pictures of my date and me before the prom. We looked at those pictures all the way to the prom and showed them to others while we were there. Though there had been no change from the earlier hours, it just seemed like we were looking back at a special time. So we would remember. I, the tomboy, in a beautiful gown and my date, the proverbial folksinger, in a well tailored tuxedo. Nothing either of us expected. The Polaroid saved that image until it burned into our memories. It was priceless. By the time we returned home, the tomboy and the folksinger had returned in form also. Only the picture would prove our potential.
I look back on so many pictures. Usually they are not of me because I am behind the lens but I remember the photo and where I have been. God, however, has been putting pictures of me in my head for a very long time, and sometimes, He opens the albums and shows me His handy work. His pictures are vivid reminders of His love and care.
My early years' album includes both the tender and fearful times. There is one when I could put my whole arm inside my father's hand and I relished in his bigness. As Pneumonia overtook my body, I lay looking at my parents' fear as fever took every ounce of my strength for many days. My father laying hot bricks at my feet as the fever turned to chills, my mother lying with me to warm my little body. I recall visions of ambulances and the penetrating cry of my mother at the word of my father's suicide. Quietly sitting alone in the garage on the fender of the last car he worked on, mourning his loss. As an athlete, winning in Softball, Volleyball, Basketball, and any other sport that came along only to feel empty when it was done. The quiet beauty of sitting at the top of the biggest tree in the valley for hours. Running through the grass until I could run no longer then fall on my back to breathe in the freshness of the soil and sod through heaving lungs.
My awakening years is a much more volatile album. Walking out of my home at sixteen to start a life of my own, alone, angry but confident of success. Simple stages: Walking back at twenty-five, successful, satisfied, but still angry; Hugging a child, who for the first time, felt the joy of just being cared for; Raising my fist in frustration as I screamed at my long dead father for missing my life.
The sweetest album has been my learning to walk with Jesus. It opens with getting married in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the night, to a man who loved me like Jesus. Later, standing before the cross of Jesus Christ and letting go of all I am for all He is. Then walking out of a church leaving my anger lying in the middle of the altar never to return to me.
The deepest album is this current one, one in which God has deepened my relationship with Christ beyond any I could have imagined. I would call it cancer but the truth is the cancer is only a catalyst for the relationship to be experienced. Therefore, I will call this album "love". It opens watching the last breaths of my sister as she lay dying from the ravages of ovarian cancer. Then walking across the grounds of the hospital and thanking God for loving her enough to take her home. The heady joy of dancing with Jesus as my husband embraced the same loving Christ that I had known for 10 years. Praying with my mother the night before she died that her wish to be with Jesus would be realized that night. Recalling my diagnosis of ovarian cancer at the age of fifty-eight. Then finding joy in a year of healing in my sixtieth year. The most recent picture; a rejoining the fight as the cancer returns.
So many pictures. God reminds me of them every time I read the beginning of Joshua. God gives Joshua a word picture of His faithfulness. He tells Joshua many times to be "strong and courageous." However, it is not a hollow set of words. He shows him in word pictures how He has been faithful to Joshua. He promises to "never leave him or forsake him". Joshua can believe it because God never has left or forsaken him. In the forty years that Joshua has been wandering with the Israelites he has remained strong and become a wise leader. He will lead the Israelites into the Promised Land. Moses cannot. Joshua's album will be completed. He has many pictures to look back on and know the promises of God are true.
I can say no less. Even when I did not know Him, He was there. I can count at least five times that I was miraculously saved from death. Yet, every day we are saved from death. Every day the sun rises and we begin again: A day to live for God or live for ourselves.
The album of my healing, though thin, is the newest of the albums. It is full of pictures of joy; birthday parties not expected, planting new trees for the future, and enjoying the days with my husband, all part of a grander theme to stay here for a while. Though God was there, He was not all encompassing. I needed to stretch and be wholly human for just a while. God knew it and He willingly gave me freedom from my intensity, knowing I would never be far from Him. Had He chosen to extend that freedom I would have stayed close to Him but on a much gentler road. With one simple CT scan, the road became straight, rocky, and complex. Fully and completely, I watched God for His every move. I wanted to know His heart, His desire, and His goal. And He said, "Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go" Joshua 1:8
I cannot say to you that I was happy when the picture of new cancer was revealed to me. To go back and do chemo again was a big decision. You may not think so. After all, the other option is death. Well, death means life eternal, beside the Lord that I love. Is it wise to prolong this life on earth to the extent that we protract the time to heaven? I do not know. Heaven is eternal and there is no time so maybe God has built into us a need to spend as much time here, it is the only place we can spend it. Have I done all that I need to do here? If not, maybe being healed is not a necessary condition.
Oh how I love this God. I pray that you love Him too. There are many great photographs in a life with Jesus Christ. What does your album look like? Give Him the praise. Thank you for your prayers for me. They are the work of Christ in you for me and I covet them always. I pray for you many times and will pray specifically if you will tell me your needs. I am presently in my third round of chemo. In this first set, the side effects seem to be tolerable, simple headaches, body aches, a deep thrombosis in the colon and wakefulness. Initial nausea medication is working well and not an issue after treatment. I will have nine days of chemo every three weeks for six cycles. Because many of the tumors are visible under my skin, we can watch for the effectiveness of treatment. If the tumors decrease in size then we will continue for the full run. If we see no progress in the next few rounds then we will look for other options. Please pray for success.
Thank you so much. Marj.
Reaching Back - February 07, 2008
To my dear friends:
I would have said, not too long ago, "there is little new that can be thrown at me that I have not experienced or with which I have not had some practice." After all, I am sixty, going on sixty-one, and have done many things. I have been depressed, deprived, dependent, delivered, decisive, divisive, and demanding. What's left? Well, I'll tell you, drained, and disoriented. So much goes into this state of being that I find that I have not written because I cannot explain myself and therefore you cannot pray well. I miss your prayers. I miss knowing about them. I miss our communication. Give me a few minutes and a little space and maybe I can explain me to all of us.
My mother was a strong woman. She survived breast cancer when the cures were very far from being a science. Her chances were about 10% but she didn't know that and just beat it. She was a little woman, like me. Alas, I am the spitt'n image of her. My mom had five kids she raised mostly on her own. When we walked with her, she would stop at every street corner, find our hand, and walk with us across the street. Her reach back for a hand was as automatic as our reach up for hers. It always reminded me of her love and care. Even in my thirties and forties, I would reach forward for my mom's hand.
I remember one day in my fifties. Mom and I went for a walk to get a Coney dog from the stand across from her apartment. As we reached the corner, I pushed the button and talked lightly with my mother. The "walk" began to flash. I reached out my hand and my mother reach forward to take mine. I realized in that instant that the roles had reversed forever. I was now leading my mother and she was graciously taking the role of follower and protected. She knew it was time and we had crossed the bridge together. It was a definitive moment.
I pray for the day when I will have that much grace, for truly, control is the issue that plays so heavily in my life today. I am taking a drug that inhibits the enzyme Aromatase, which is necessary to make the natural estrogen that might be left in my body. This was done because the cancer that has returned has always been much more vigorous in the presence of estrogen. By taking the Aromasin, we have removed any possible value the estrogen might have had. Effectively removing all trace of estrogen has left me in a rather emotionally unstable place. I can be fine for many days and then irritable, angry, confused and upset for a day then relaxed the next. It seems like a small price to pay to stay alive, and I certainly see it that way, but there are still consequences and changes that must be faced in the light of this new development.
I watched my mother graciously give up control. I don't know if it was an internal battle for her, but it did not seem like it on the outside. She took my hand. She relinquished the keys to her car, and asked my sister to help her get groceries. She looked at the skills she had left and determined what she would do now. Since she was ambulatory, she became the "check up" person in her building, making sure that each person on her floor was well and up each day. She worked on hand crafts and became the toughest bingo player in her building. She adapted, changed, and lived with a twinkle in her eye.
Surrendering control is the major issue. I know that I do not have the emotional strength to do all that I have done for so many years. In the past, when I was having surgeries, I could make quick, rational, decisions without the tyranny of emotion. Pain was not a controlling factor. With or without pain, I was still the same. Now I find that emotions take all my energy to control or express. I do not desire to control. I have to find ways to serve without controlling. I have been a leader so long that it just naturally falls out of me. It is expected of me to enter a room of chaos and slowly and carefully bring it back into control, even if I am not in charge. I may even be able to convince the leader that he or she did it.
However, with leadership comes responsibility and eventually conflict. If you are leading one person, the conflict is between the two of you. If you are leading more, the conflict comes between them, which is your responsibility to manage. It must be done with love and grace but firmly. Presently, I can only express fear, disappointment, and personal hurt when confronted with chaos. That is control by emotional tyranny. Asking people to follow the rules just because my feelings are hurt is an old trick of many Bible characters. Phrases like "did you bring us out of Egypt just so we would die in the desert?", "the woman You gave me", and "the serpent deceived me", are words God fearing people use to shift the blame to whomever they please and proclaim their offendedness as proper reasoning for sin. I do not want to be this kind of person. I love the people I work with and do not desire to do this to them. My mother's grace to change herself is my desire.
It could be that this extra emoting is a diversion from the obvious factor that this cancer is only curable through the benevolent grace of a loving God. Having to wait and do nothing but allow God to choose where the cancer will be, how it will grow, and when He will heal me, is an enlightening experience. I realize that our options are few. Most of the options either work very slowly or not at all in many people. That does not mean that I would rule out God's divine intervention. What appears to be a long shot in medicine is an easy thing for God. Cancer is not a threat to God, nor is death. The healing will happen, when I do not know. I have absolutely no control over my own healing. It is in God's hands.
This is the biggest stumbling block in my life, I have no control. I must ask God to take care of it, and wait. I can't give Him parameters, direction, or logic. I must just ask, plead, and live a life that is assured that He has heard. Yet I know, that even in hearing, God may not choose to heal me on earth. I want to negotiate that with Him. I want to have a say in my destiny. I understand that for God this is a small step in an eternal life, but for me, it is huge. I love this world and I love my husband. I want to be healed here. I want control. I want to make this an emotional issue so that I can get riled up and convince God of the need I have to stay around earth a little longer. But He won't have it. His mind is made up and I cannot find the chapter and verse that tells me what He has decided. But I know His love and have felt His grace. I trust His hand to lead me across the street.
He's been reaching out for a long time and I have been running in circles waiting for the "walk" light so I could sprint across. The light won't change until He has my hand. Then together we will cross the Jordan.
I am at peace with this. I see my life settling down. Estrogen is overrated. God's grace is over all. He is my rock. Thank you for your prayers. May the love of Jesus be part of every day in your life here, so that you will be prepared to meet Him in the sky.
With all my love, Marj
I would have said, not too long ago, "there is little new that can be thrown at me that I have not experienced or with which I have not had some practice." After all, I am sixty, going on sixty-one, and have done many things. I have been depressed, deprived, dependent, delivered, decisive, divisive, and demanding. What's left? Well, I'll tell you, drained, and disoriented. So much goes into this state of being that I find that I have not written because I cannot explain myself and therefore you cannot pray well. I miss your prayers. I miss knowing about them. I miss our communication. Give me a few minutes and a little space and maybe I can explain me to all of us.
My mother was a strong woman. She survived breast cancer when the cures were very far from being a science. Her chances were about 10% but she didn't know that and just beat it. She was a little woman, like me. Alas, I am the spitt'n image of her. My mom had five kids she raised mostly on her own. When we walked with her, she would stop at every street corner, find our hand, and walk with us across the street. Her reach back for a hand was as automatic as our reach up for hers. It always reminded me of her love and care. Even in my thirties and forties, I would reach forward for my mom's hand.
I remember one day in my fifties. Mom and I went for a walk to get a Coney dog from the stand across from her apartment. As we reached the corner, I pushed the button and talked lightly with my mother. The "walk" began to flash. I reached out my hand and my mother reach forward to take mine. I realized in that instant that the roles had reversed forever. I was now leading my mother and she was graciously taking the role of follower and protected. She knew it was time and we had crossed the bridge together. It was a definitive moment.
I pray for the day when I will have that much grace, for truly, control is the issue that plays so heavily in my life today. I am taking a drug that inhibits the enzyme Aromatase, which is necessary to make the natural estrogen that might be left in my body. This was done because the cancer that has returned has always been much more vigorous in the presence of estrogen. By taking the Aromasin, we have removed any possible value the estrogen might have had. Effectively removing all trace of estrogen has left me in a rather emotionally unstable place. I can be fine for many days and then irritable, angry, confused and upset for a day then relaxed the next. It seems like a small price to pay to stay alive, and I certainly see it that way, but there are still consequences and changes that must be faced in the light of this new development.
I watched my mother graciously give up control. I don't know if it was an internal battle for her, but it did not seem like it on the outside. She took my hand. She relinquished the keys to her car, and asked my sister to help her get groceries. She looked at the skills she had left and determined what she would do now. Since she was ambulatory, she became the "check up" person in her building, making sure that each person on her floor was well and up each day. She worked on hand crafts and became the toughest bingo player in her building. She adapted, changed, and lived with a twinkle in her eye.
Surrendering control is the major issue. I know that I do not have the emotional strength to do all that I have done for so many years. In the past, when I was having surgeries, I could make quick, rational, decisions without the tyranny of emotion. Pain was not a controlling factor. With or without pain, I was still the same. Now I find that emotions take all my energy to control or express. I do not desire to control. I have to find ways to serve without controlling. I have been a leader so long that it just naturally falls out of me. It is expected of me to enter a room of chaos and slowly and carefully bring it back into control, even if I am not in charge. I may even be able to convince the leader that he or she did it.
However, with leadership comes responsibility and eventually conflict. If you are leading one person, the conflict is between the two of you. If you are leading more, the conflict comes between them, which is your responsibility to manage. It must be done with love and grace but firmly. Presently, I can only express fear, disappointment, and personal hurt when confronted with chaos. That is control by emotional tyranny. Asking people to follow the rules just because my feelings are hurt is an old trick of many Bible characters. Phrases like "did you bring us out of Egypt just so we would die in the desert?", "the woman You gave me", and "the serpent deceived me", are words God fearing people use to shift the blame to whomever they please and proclaim their offendedness as proper reasoning for sin. I do not want to be this kind of person. I love the people I work with and do not desire to do this to them. My mother's grace to change herself is my desire.
It could be that this extra emoting is a diversion from the obvious factor that this cancer is only curable through the benevolent grace of a loving God. Having to wait and do nothing but allow God to choose where the cancer will be, how it will grow, and when He will heal me, is an enlightening experience. I realize that our options are few. Most of the options either work very slowly or not at all in many people. That does not mean that I would rule out God's divine intervention. What appears to be a long shot in medicine is an easy thing for God. Cancer is not a threat to God, nor is death. The healing will happen, when I do not know. I have absolutely no control over my own healing. It is in God's hands.
This is the biggest stumbling block in my life, I have no control. I must ask God to take care of it, and wait. I can't give Him parameters, direction, or logic. I must just ask, plead, and live a life that is assured that He has heard. Yet I know, that even in hearing, God may not choose to heal me on earth. I want to negotiate that with Him. I want to have a say in my destiny. I understand that for God this is a small step in an eternal life, but for me, it is huge. I love this world and I love my husband. I want to be healed here. I want control. I want to make this an emotional issue so that I can get riled up and convince God of the need I have to stay around earth a little longer. But He won't have it. His mind is made up and I cannot find the chapter and verse that tells me what He has decided. But I know His love and have felt His grace. I trust His hand to lead me across the street.
He's been reaching out for a long time and I have been running in circles waiting for the "walk" light so I could sprint across. The light won't change until He has my hand. Then together we will cross the Jordan.
I am at peace with this. I see my life settling down. Estrogen is overrated. God's grace is over all. He is my rock. Thank you for your prayers. May the love of Jesus be part of every day in your life here, so that you will be prepared to meet Him in the sky.
With all my love, Marj
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