An Apology

I feel like an apology is in order. An apology from me. I was so caught up in my own storm-drama wondering if the big gala we had spent 7 months planning was going to fall apart in the face of Helene on Thursday night, I stopped listening to what was happening around me. 

We prayed and we re-positioned our event.  We hunkered down and handled all the changes and we—well, at least, I—didn’t look up for a few days. All I could think of was the money that would be lost, the opportunities missed, and the hard work all for nothing.

And so miraculously the worst of the storm didn’t hit us. It went east. And what did come, came late. The benefit began and the party continued and we praised God for allowing it take place safely. I am sure I even felt a bit smug—We had made the right decision. We gambled and we won. I really wasn’t sure until I saw the 400+ people seated in their seats. Dry. Safe. Celebrating.

But then I started reading and listening and seeing what happened elsewhere. When the storm swung away from us it obviously had to hit somewhere else. But that didn’t fully connect in my mind until a good bit later. 

It didn’t fully sink in until my pictures were posted and our event stuff put away. 

This weekend, as a country, we celebrated homecomings and national sons day and football victories. As we should. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, I just can’t quite reconcile it in the face of what I’m reading and seeing today. 

I am struggling with the fact that my team was hugging and high-fiving Thursday night at a pumped up party while others were without power and water.  I can’t stand the fact that so much of eastern Georgia and South Carolina and North Carolina are tonight sitting in total devastation. The reports are horrific. The results heartbreaking.

All I can think is — and I was worried about our fundraiser for 400? I mean, trust me, it would have been a real hit for our non-profit to have to postpone and lose all the money spent for the set up that was already in place … the food ordered …the florals … yes, all of that. But NOTHING in comparison to what I’m hearing about today.

Helene has been horrific in the Southeast. Homes hit, trees toppled, lives lost. Power and water gone. Towns submerged. People still missing. So much shattered.

And yet for the rest of the world life went on. I’ve noticed 100 homecoming picture posts on social media. So much chatter about the football games yesterday. I am worried about a leaky porch roof and too much rainwater in my backyard. But people are truly suffering not very many miles away. And it is hard to wrestle with all of this. 

What is this world which allows some to celebrate and some to suffer? Simultaneously. How can this be?

I mean I kind of know what it feels like to be hit with devastating news and then watch others continue … to continue. It’s a weird thing watching this happen. But what choice do we have? Even if people mourn with those who mourn, they have to at some point wake up one morning and move on. And celebrate homecomings and football games. Of course they do. Like I said, it’s just weird. There’s a wrestling. 

We cannot all live on the edge of loss.  We cannot all park on the place of fear. We can empathize and we can come alongside, but we are all suffering and surviving in our own personal day to day ways. One week it is me. One week it is you. Compassion and community are vital parts to our living and loving, but perhaps can only go so deep and so wide. Can only go on for so many days. And then we must feel badly but … continue on.

We didn’t get hit as hard as they thought we would. But someone else did. Can we rejoice for our fortunate selves, yes! Can we mourn for our unfortunate neighbors, yes! We can do that too. Like I said, it’s just weird.

I got lucky. My neighbor did not. And isn't this how life seems to repeat itself over and over and over again. Sometimes it's me. Sometimes it's you.

The truth is, we live in a “both-and” kind of world. There is both in our every day. Both in our neighbor’s every day. It’s messy. Maybe just as messy as a hurricane hitting. Maybe. I can’t say for sure as the hurricane missed us this time around. But ask my neighbors in Asheville or Augusta. Maybe they can answer this question better than me. 

What I want to express to you tonight is not that it all makes sense. It doesn’t. I don’t have one single answer. I don’t have one clear way of explaining this all to anyone. I am only writing to say that if my celebrating caused anyone else to feel unseen or deserted in their own devastation, I’m sorry. I’m pretty sure this is not the first time. 

I am certain I’ve posted a picture of my intact family and inadvertently hurt someone who has a family falling apart. I’m sure I’ve celebrated the blessings of my marriage when another was walking the road of divorce. I am positive I’ve posted about a happy child when someone else had a kid not able to get out of bed. These are the things. These are the hard, hard, hard things. We don't always see. Or know. Or understand.

I am dealing with a diagnosis which will probably end in diminished life. Sometimes I read things, see things which make me feel sad. I probably won’t celebrate my 80th or 70th birthday or get to meet my great grandchildren. I probably won’t watch all of my children get married or get to see the births of all of their children. I read about my friends playing tennis or hiking and doing all the normal things. Yet, lately I am struggling to walk. It’s hard. I get sad. Some days, really sad. 

Sometimes the hurricanes in our lives are easily seen. Sometimes not so much.

Oh dear Lord, let us always have hearts to hear and see and embrace those who are hurting. Like I said, I don’t really know how to do it the right way. So I apologize if I’ve ever done it the wrong way. And I pray for eyes that would attempt to see others better. And a heart that doesn’t judge when others don’t see me. 

It can go both ways. But, for the most part, we view most things through our own personal lens. I am so guilty. And for that, I say, I am truly sorry. I know how much we need one another. I know how much good happens when we can walk a mile in the shoes of another. 

It is the VERY reason Jesus came down to earth. To make Himself fully man. To wrap Himself in our flesh. To experience what we experience. To understand and empathize and die a perfect death for us. He isn’t just a random god all up on his throne in heaven removed and resistant to us. No, He is God who loves us so deeply and so profoundly He was willing to come and live among us. To be right with us. To walk alongside us. To understand us. Even, yes, even, to weep with us. 

“And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth.” ~ John 1:14

“Jesus wept.” ~John 11:35

We aren’t going to do it perfectly. But I know I want to do it better.

“Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.”

~ Romans12:15

Just like Jesus did. Like He does.

Plans + Steps: A Health Update

 “A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” 

~ Proverbs 16:9

Plans and steps have been kind of strange words for me lately.

I always thought of these years of older kids or even post-kid-raising as full of potential. I had lots of ideas. Lots of dreams. Lots of plans. I was so content and grateful to be at home full-time when the kids were little. I tried never to take that for granted. But as the nest continued to empty I just really thought I’d have a lot of opportunities outside the home ahead when things slowed down within. And maybe I do. But it’s been a struggle lately to put one foot in front of the other. 

Literally. I am struggling to walk these days. And this is a new turn in my health status. Early this summer I woke one day with pain in my right knee. I didn’t do anything to hurt it or cause a problem. It was just suddenly painful one morning. After a few appointments and scans the doctors determined that I had a complex tear of my meniscus. It didn’t make sense. I haven’t exactly been out doing anything super athletic or rigorous. But I was experiencing some pretty good pain in my right knee and unexplained or not, it was debilitating. 

An MRI showed that I not only had a complex tear of the meniscus, but also that I have significant loss of cartilage and the knee is in a serious degenerative situation. 

I have never had knee issues. Why now? Well, it’s a pretty well known fact that taking the estrogen blocking drugs I take to fight my cancer happen to also cause significant joint pain and deterioration. We need estrogen to keep things healthy and working right in our bodies—Everything from our skin and hair to our brains and organs to our joints and bones. I can release the skin and hair stuff, but the other body parts and functions are pretty important. I’m in a crazy catch 22 of sorts. My cancer is estrogen fed, so we have to block it best we can, but I am incurring some significant side effects because of this blocking. See what I mean? It’s a little tricky. 

Early in July, an orthopedic doctor gave me a cortisone shot and that helped immeasurably. It provided great relief right away and I was able to navigate some fun trips and travel through the summer with the pain mostly under control.  

Unfortunately, in early August, the cortisone wore off and the pain came back. Even worse. And now, strangely enough, it was in both knees. Same thing as before—all of a sudden it hit me and since it's return even walking has been a daily challenge.  Especially early in the day. Getting out of bed is the hardest. Once I'm moving a little I can walk so it looks almost normal, but there's still a good bit of constant pain. I feel like I'm suddenly about 85 years old. My dad has knee issues and is looking at a TKR (total knee replacement). Maybe together we can work some kind of father-daughter deal. Funny, not funny.

We haven’t imaged the left knee yet, but I am assuming it is the same issue. Scans and appointments will take place soon. 

So now I am the owner of two bad knees and I am at loss for next steps. The doctors are also a little at a loss. I am meeting with several, but there’s this weird bridging that isn’t always clear between oncology and orthopedics. We need to address both concerns simultaneously. Surgery or a total knee replacement would mean stopping my cancer treatment for a while. The treatments which seem to be keeping my metastatic cancer sleepy, So, as you can imagine, halting this seems a pretty big risk. As much as the cortisone shot helped, that is only a quick fix, and can’t be used more than a couple of times before it begins to add to the problem. So it really is nothing more than a flimsy type of bandaid.

The diagnosis of cancer in my bones and lymph nodes has been a lot to deal with. The heaviness of my worry over cancer’s progression feels often like it is beginning to just flatten me. I am not myself. I don’t feel like myself. I realize that social media paints a different picture. Let’s just all agree that social media does that for most everyone. But the truth is, I am struggling big time trying to carry this load. I know Jesus carries it for me, but it still requires me to continually hand it over and remind myself that He has it and He has me. It is a daily talking to myself and a constant taking of myself to the foot of His cross.  

It was one thing dealing with the loss of my clean bill of health, but now I feel like I am in yet another state of loss as my mobility and independence feel threatened. 

The things I was distracting myself with in these past couple of years are seemingly being stripped away. It is hard to care for our yard and gardens and chickens and home and family and myself with what’s happening to my knees. And I fear there’s no end. I fear this is the way it is going to be. We don’t suddenly heal from degenerative issues. And, I’ll be honest, the distractions have been really, really helpful. Nothing helps me more with anxiety or fear then going out to my yard and digging in the dirt or burning the dead brush from our woods. I know that might sound weird, but it’s how I am wired. These activities have been a cathartic kind of salvation for me. If I was stressed or dealing with something I went outside and I Did Things. Friends and family like to joke that I work like a man in our yard. I do. I did. Right now, I can’t. And it is kind of breaking my heart. 

And that’s the outside story. Inside we have some things for which to solve. We have stairs everywhere in our home. How am I going to continue to navigate this set up? Is it realistic? What if things get worse? I wake in the middle of the night with these questions coming at me like relentless, pelting rain. I sometimes feel absolutely suffocated by the fear and the what ifs. I have been living with those nasty what ifs since being diagnosed, but lately I am sitting with the “what nows.” What in the world do we do now?

And so I am asking you to pray with us and for us. I am asking you to stay on this journey. We are doing our very best to keep our eyes on our Good Shepherd and to keep placing our trust in His plan and His purpose. We are. It’s just that we feel pretty weak and weary these days as life isn’t looking like what we had hoped or planned. 

I assure you there’s much for which we are grateful. So much. It’s not all gloom and doom. I try to walk that line candidly and honestly with you, my friends. I want to be honest about the hard stuff, but I also want you to know it is my heart’s desire to find the the silver lining and to highlight the purpose in the pain. Not because I have to, but because I want to. I want to find the glimmer in this grave disappointment.

And so that is my main source of exercise and encouragement these days. I have specifically asked that the Lord would remove the “why me? why now?” feelings and give me only praise for His plan and His purpose. 

Maybe you know a little of what it is I write. Maybe you too have been in a similar place of wondering and waiting. A place of questions and concerns. A place of anxieties and unbelievable angst. Maybe the plan for your life is turning out a little different than you thought and hoped it might. There’s a million books out there on the subject, but only we can walk the personal roads of our own dashed dreams. 

So, pain or not, let’s keep walking. Let’s keep journeying together. Even if we can’t walk very well. Even if every step is fraught with fear or pain. Let’s keep going. Keep asking. Keep searching. Keep listening to the words of Jesus who has told us so many good things.

Like, “but He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. … ‘that is why, for Christ’s sake I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 12: 9 + 10

Like, “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” Isaiah 43:1

Like, “For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” ~ Jeremiah 29:11

Like, “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” ~ Deuteronomy 31:8

And maybe my favorite in this season I’m in …

“Listen to me … you whom I have upheld since your birth, and have carried since you were born. Even to your old age and gray hairs I AM HE, I am He and I WILL carry you; I WILL sustain you and I WILL rescue you.” Isaiah 46:3-4

Counting Stitches. Counting Blessings. Counting on Jesus.

 

Dearest Mimi Grace,                    September 2, 20024

I began this counted cross stitch one year ago—the week you were born, my dear granddaughter. 

And all this year I have counted and stitched. Counted and stitched. One small x stitch after another. The cloth traveled with me everywhere -- all over the world, in fact. Back and forth to Europe - twice this summer! Out west for a wedding. Up to Ohio for a quick visit. Down to the beach with our family. Over to the Smoky Mountains for a weekend away. 

It traveled with me on countless airplane trips and every long car ride when I wasn't required to be the driver. It went with me to doctor appointments and even once to one of my infusions. I took it everywhere. 

I have stitched sitting on the quiet of my back porch and on the sofa  watching movies or church or elsewhere in the house just listening to music. It has been my constant companion. My sweet connection to you as you moved from month to month, milestone to milestone.

In this first year of your beautiful  life, I have stitched and I have prayed for precious you. I have counted the many blessings you have already brought to our family. I have prayed for all the blessings you will encounter as you grow and develop and become everything God designed you to be. Because though I am the stitcher of this small fabric, He is the One who holds the full tapestry of lovely you. 

The project is finally finished. My stitching is complete, but I promise my praying will continue all the days of your life.  All the days of mine. You can count on that, dear one! 

But even more so, my hope is that you too will learn to count on Jesus. Jesus—the very one who stitched you together—He is your greatest hope. Count on Him. Always. Wherever you go. Whatever you do. Whenever you can. Count on Him.

 That is my greatest prayer for you.

“I am counting on the Lord; yers, I am counting on Him.  I have put my hope in His word.” 

~ Psalm 130:5

With Love, Your Birdy