Deliciously dozing
Dazed by delight
Purring weightless
Dreaming contentment.
Three spirit-cats
Sleeping in the peaks and valleys
Of a naked down comforter,
Mindful only of safety and comfort.
Lord, make us solely mindful
Of Enfoldment in the Deep Folds of Your
Enwrapping Love, Safety and Comfort.
You are the Great Comforter.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
How Fortunate I Am
For over 25 years while ending a Chinese meal out I would tell the following story.
I always note a moment of almost childhood excitement as guests pretend to struggle over the order of reaching for the fortune cookies, an almost magical belief that yours will be special and some disappointment if others get the good fortune, as if it will come true. Fortunes are then read and evaluated and even at times the words “in bed” are added to the reading.
Twenty five years ago I searched through a large bowl of cookies carefully and upon opening it discovered it was empty…..empty!!!! The existential question I suffered from was if that meant I had NO fortune I was indeed unfortunate. My inner self recovered fairly quickly and I announced to the group that it meant “I get to make my own”.
Who would ever believe the odds that this scenario was repeated again this week and in front of a friend who was present at the first event! In evaluating the past 25 years I conclude that I have indeed been very fortunate.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Miss Odessa Cat
Miss Odessa Cat is now retired, but here are two shots of her in her younger career days:
My Testimony
When I invited Jesus into my 6 year old heart I loved Him; I had no doubts.
After 57 years of life I love Him and have no doubts.
I have chronicles of experience of how He has been with me even and especially when I was not close to Him. I have lived both close and far from Him and by far close is better!
He has given me grace and mercy……grace just enough and just in time. As a mother I cannot imagine giving up your only son for the salvation of those who will believe.
As I walk towards Heaven I can truly say that God has been my Father, Counselor, Savior and Bridegroom. In the last 15 years I have lived with Cancer, widowhood and numerous losses. God has given me joy, the family of God and constant comfort. He resurrected me from death episodes three times in five years. He showed me what is important. He has brought me children and their children that love Him. I often identify with Job and God’s ultimate care for him.
I look to Psalm 23 (NIV) to express my testimony:
(1) “Because the Lord is my shepherd I have everything I need.” Even when I may think I need more.
(2) “He lets me rest in the meadow grass and leads me beside the quiet streams.” When I feel stressed He calls me to find rest. I become the baby lamb I have seen resting in the crook of His arm.
(3) “He restores my failing health.” I trust Him as my great physician.
(3) “He helps me to do what honors Him the most.” Especially when I want to do
what honors me the most.
(4) “Even when walking through the dark valley of death I will not be afraid for you are close beside me guarding, guiding all the way.” You never leave us or forsake us. You are with us in the most alone experiences of birth and death.
(5) “You provide delicious food for me…you have welcomed me as your guest; blessings overflow.” I accept your gracious hospitality and praise the overflowing of good things.
(6) “Your goodness and unfailing kindness shall be with me all of my life and afterward I will live with you forever in your house.” What more could I need forever?
Things Are Not Always As They Seem To Be
I received the legacy of china knick knacks from several generations. As I was passing them on to my daughter we tried to make meaning of them. I am someone who should be purchasing “Antiques for Dummies”.
I was especially impressed with a blue and white set of china that a friend assisted me in displaying on my, oh I don’t really know its name but it sits atop the very old buffet of my mother. As I tried to describe it to others I remembered such antique words as “spode” and “toile”, whatever they meant.
As our admiration for the mysterious china grew, we chose it as the theme of my daughter’s new dining room. We purchased classic toile blue and white valences and I sewed a door curtain sporting a stylish blue braided tassel.
I began questioning both sides of my family to understand the meaning of such valuable legacies.
The paternal grandparent relatives had no recollection of grandma ever owning such. The maternal aunt recalled that the maternal grandmother hated any china bearing a pattern………..um?
We resorted to Mother Internet. She held the answer. These Enoch Wedgwood Liberty Blue dishes were given away at A & P grocery stores to honor the U.S. bi-centennial in 1976. Yes, I had actually heard the word Wedgwood somewhere at least! It was then I recalled that the paternal grandma was a serious celebrant of the bi-centennial, having tediously crocheted two king-sized flag coverlets. Apparently she shopped at A & P frequently in 1976 and never told her family.
At last our dining room found its sentimental meaning.
I was especially impressed with a blue and white set of china that a friend assisted me in displaying on my, oh I don’t really know its name but it sits atop the very old buffet of my mother. As I tried to describe it to others I remembered such antique words as “spode” and “toile”, whatever they meant.
As our admiration for the mysterious china grew, we chose it as the theme of my daughter’s new dining room. We purchased classic toile blue and white valences and I sewed a door curtain sporting a stylish blue braided tassel.
I began questioning both sides of my family to understand the meaning of such valuable legacies.
The paternal grandparent relatives had no recollection of grandma ever owning such. The maternal aunt recalled that the maternal grandmother hated any china bearing a pattern………..um?
We resorted to Mother Internet. She held the answer. These Enoch Wedgwood Liberty Blue dishes were given away at A & P grocery stores to honor the U.S. bi-centennial in 1976. Yes, I had actually heard the word Wedgwood somewhere at least! It was then I recalled that the paternal grandma was a serious celebrant of the bi-centennial, having tediously crocheted two king-sized flag coverlets. Apparently she shopped at A & P frequently in 1976 and never told her family.
At last our dining room found its sentimental meaning.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
My Cancer Companion
Seven is considered a lucky, perhaps sacred number. After my breast cancer diagnosis it was the number of years I imagined my survival to be. I am now fourteen years beyond diagnosis, an unexpected double blessing.
I have moved past the initial fear and panic, rush to cure, into an intimate cellular and emotional relationship with my cancer. It is now ownership, not victimization. Paradoxically I oppose and embrace it. It IS me, but I am more than it.
I have indeed met the enemy. It took away my breast, financial stability, vocation and “pseudo-sense of control”. It dramatically brought me into death’s lobby three times in five years. It destroyed any remnants of superficiality. Shopping and acquisition no longer satisfy. Matters of essence and eternity have replaced them.
Cancer is the great distiller, centrifuging truth to the surface, discarding toxins and purifying a person.
In the beginning I felt mostly shame and embarrassment. In 1995 pink ribbon mentality was less developed. Surely I was some sort of “health criminal” who had violated healthy living laws, perhaps consuming too much ice cream or McDonald's cheeseburgers. As a baby boomer I had lived my young adulthood in the 50’s ethic of caring for others first and was not attuned to the later “self care” culture. I should have been more self disciplined and “ yoga…ish.” As a psychotherapist of many years I was familiar with professional literature blaming disease on stress. My brain was bombarded by shoulds and shame.
A personal issue for me was my Minnesota upbringing. Self-effacement and “invisibility” are valued traits along with stoic silent suffering. The breast cancer diagnosis shot large holes in my need for invisibility. To complicate matters I moved away from all familiar identity to a small town in west Texas to support my husband’s executive position at a university. I arrived months after him as a balding post-mastectomy patient. Who was I? Who did they think I was? I left behind my breast, my home, my older teen-aged children, my job, my car, put my geriatric Shetland sheep dog to sleep and moved into an isolated rental house on the road to the prison. I knew no one.
Just as I later learned as a new widow, people don’t know how to “be” with those who are attacked by life’s bullets. Some avoid, some over attend and invalidize you. For someone who was always the “helper” the glaring status of cancer patient was uncomfortable and invasive.
I decided that loss of a breast seemed to mean the loss of your brain, your value, or your dependability. Others hesitated to make requests, overprotected you, and did not always include you. Such doubtful approaches leveled my self esteem which on some days already had a hard time standing alone.
Some well-meaning folks seemed fearful that cancer was contagious. Some interrogated you about your history and life habits hoping that they may be spared if theirs were different than yours. Some brought “cure” books sporting simple rules to recovery. They purported consuming algae and brown rice while you could barely keep water down after chemotherapy. Such simplicity seemed to calm their anxiety. It only made me feel my “wrongness”.
Even professional interaction could inflict wounds. My first oncologist never wore a smile and seemed more interested in her designer wardrobe than in me. One day she curtly commented that “at least I had something they could treat”. I did not know if I should apologize and internalized the comment that I was not even an adequate cancer patient. Fortunately I was allowed to meet more compassionate providers along the way.
Phase Two
My cancer resembles an Oreo cookie, beginning with its dark crumbly foundation. In the middle years it was filled with a sweet creamy center. For 9 years I only experienced cancer in anticipation of annual exams and possibly threatening outcomes. I rebuilt my life and work and experienced loving friends, children and grandchildren. Reality did continue its attack as I lost my husband and both parents and 3 beloved dogs within several years. The early cancer years had taught me critical survival lessons that held me in good stead during this grief and recovery process.
Suddenly one Sunday in January life slammed the dark top cookie over the sweet filling. My 105 degree fever and revelation of dreaded cancer recurrence attacking my colon hit me like a bomb. I was just one year away from no longer having to pay outrageously expensive high risk health insurance premiums. More important, I was no longer a poster child. This represented serious failure on my part. Over 5 months I experienced major colon surgery, chemotherapy and respiratory side effects from the chemo resulting in hospitalization for a month and ventilator dependence for 2 weeks. During the next 4 months I did rehab exercise and was tethered to home oxygen.
I never returned to the job, home and lifestyle I had just created in a small mid-Texas town and moved overnight to live near a major cancer treatment facility where my daughter lived. Through its personal and integrated services my outpatient recovery progressed. My rehab doctor poignantly reminded me that “you can’t hurry slow” and rehab is slow. Again, the question of who am I?
Phase Three
Fast forward several years. Life was good. Breathing freely was wonderful. I had sat down on a nail and getting up felt so very good. I still kept grieving all I had lost and whom I had been and imagined recreating it until……………I realized that we must let go of the life we planned in order to accept the life we have.
I obsessed over worthless thoughts such as wondering if I had time to finish tasks or fulfill dreams. Now that I had returned from death’s door twice this kind of preservation versus production mentality haunted me.
I had always felt abnormal, isolated, and bad in this life/death cancer dilemma until one day the light bulb turned on. I am just living the human dilemma common to us all. I might be more conscious of death lurking around the corner, but all of us live on that street. We live in a conspiracy of silence and denial. We act shocked (and of course saddened) when an acquaintance or loved one dies. Look at the evidence. We have no exceptions to this rule. Not to live in despair or doom we must look at truth head-on to really live. One of the strongest human fears is that of uncertainty. It can shrink in the evidence of certainty. We know what that certainty is about life. The body always betrays us. We must be attached to more than our physical body to be a survivor. We must inhabit our spirit and our mind. This is transendence. For me it is God’s grace granting me the faith to have purpose and comfort.
Phase Four
Okay. Back to the Oreo cookie analogy . Interesting that during this time Oreo came out with “double stuff” cookies. Just after my second cream filling came another black cookie layer! Because the cancer had spread we moved from hormone therapy to another big chemo weapon. Yes, this ammo again inflamed my lungs and resulted in another ventilator dependent icu stay only this time it was during a vacation to another state. What I learned………….strangers did not understand me and my condition as well as my primary oncologist. Because they did not know me they were encouraging my family to let me die. I am a believer in advance directives, but God told me in that ER very strongly that it was not right for me to execute that decision at that time.
Again, a 3 week stay and a 5 month rehab taught me patience. This time I really surrendered to accepting life as it came to me and the journey has been blessed. Friends, strangers, grandchildren, events have encircled me and sustained me to my core. I see that I have never needed anything I wasn’t provided although the grace frequently came at a different time and in a different form than I anticipated.
In January of this year I had a 3rd such episode and emerged from the ventilator realizing that we had taken enough risks from chemo and were now on our own.
I live in the spirit of love, faith and God’s grace dispensed to me. We all do and when you doubt just experience His gentle hand on your shoulder, love in the faces around you and receive hope. God is preparing a place for me and I hope that I am preparing for Him.
I have moved past the initial fear and panic, rush to cure, into an intimate cellular and emotional relationship with my cancer. It is now ownership, not victimization. Paradoxically I oppose and embrace it. It IS me, but I am more than it.
I have indeed met the enemy. It took away my breast, financial stability, vocation and “pseudo-sense of control”. It dramatically brought me into death’s lobby three times in five years. It destroyed any remnants of superficiality. Shopping and acquisition no longer satisfy. Matters of essence and eternity have replaced them.
Cancer is the great distiller, centrifuging truth to the surface, discarding toxins and purifying a person.
In the beginning I felt mostly shame and embarrassment. In 1995 pink ribbon mentality was less developed. Surely I was some sort of “health criminal” who had violated healthy living laws, perhaps consuming too much ice cream or McDonald's cheeseburgers. As a baby boomer I had lived my young adulthood in the 50’s ethic of caring for others first and was not attuned to the later “self care” culture. I should have been more self disciplined and “ yoga…ish.” As a psychotherapist of many years I was familiar with professional literature blaming disease on stress. My brain was bombarded by shoulds and shame.
A personal issue for me was my Minnesota upbringing. Self-effacement and “invisibility” are valued traits along with stoic silent suffering. The breast cancer diagnosis shot large holes in my need for invisibility. To complicate matters I moved away from all familiar identity to a small town in west Texas to support my husband’s executive position at a university. I arrived months after him as a balding post-mastectomy patient. Who was I? Who did they think I was? I left behind my breast, my home, my older teen-aged children, my job, my car, put my geriatric Shetland sheep dog to sleep and moved into an isolated rental house on the road to the prison. I knew no one.
Just as I later learned as a new widow, people don’t know how to “be” with those who are attacked by life’s bullets. Some avoid, some over attend and invalidize you. For someone who was always the “helper” the glaring status of cancer patient was uncomfortable and invasive.
I decided that loss of a breast seemed to mean the loss of your brain, your value, or your dependability. Others hesitated to make requests, overprotected you, and did not always include you. Such doubtful approaches leveled my self esteem which on some days already had a hard time standing alone.
Some well-meaning folks seemed fearful that cancer was contagious. Some interrogated you about your history and life habits hoping that they may be spared if theirs were different than yours. Some brought “cure” books sporting simple rules to recovery. They purported consuming algae and brown rice while you could barely keep water down after chemotherapy. Such simplicity seemed to calm their anxiety. It only made me feel my “wrongness”.
Even professional interaction could inflict wounds. My first oncologist never wore a smile and seemed more interested in her designer wardrobe than in me. One day she curtly commented that “at least I had something they could treat”. I did not know if I should apologize and internalized the comment that I was not even an adequate cancer patient. Fortunately I was allowed to meet more compassionate providers along the way.
Phase Two
My cancer resembles an Oreo cookie, beginning with its dark crumbly foundation. In the middle years it was filled with a sweet creamy center. For 9 years I only experienced cancer in anticipation of annual exams and possibly threatening outcomes. I rebuilt my life and work and experienced loving friends, children and grandchildren. Reality did continue its attack as I lost my husband and both parents and 3 beloved dogs within several years. The early cancer years had taught me critical survival lessons that held me in good stead during this grief and recovery process.
Suddenly one Sunday in January life slammed the dark top cookie over the sweet filling. My 105 degree fever and revelation of dreaded cancer recurrence attacking my colon hit me like a bomb. I was just one year away from no longer having to pay outrageously expensive high risk health insurance premiums. More important, I was no longer a poster child. This represented serious failure on my part. Over 5 months I experienced major colon surgery, chemotherapy and respiratory side effects from the chemo resulting in hospitalization for a month and ventilator dependence for 2 weeks. During the next 4 months I did rehab exercise and was tethered to home oxygen.
I never returned to the job, home and lifestyle I had just created in a small mid-Texas town and moved overnight to live near a major cancer treatment facility where my daughter lived. Through its personal and integrated services my outpatient recovery progressed. My rehab doctor poignantly reminded me that “you can’t hurry slow” and rehab is slow. Again, the question of who am I?
Phase Three
Fast forward several years. Life was good. Breathing freely was wonderful. I had sat down on a nail and getting up felt so very good. I still kept grieving all I had lost and whom I had been and imagined recreating it until……………I realized that we must let go of the life we planned in order to accept the life we have.
I obsessed over worthless thoughts such as wondering if I had time to finish tasks or fulfill dreams. Now that I had returned from death’s door twice this kind of preservation versus production mentality haunted me.
I had always felt abnormal, isolated, and bad in this life/death cancer dilemma until one day the light bulb turned on. I am just living the human dilemma common to us all. I might be more conscious of death lurking around the corner, but all of us live on that street. We live in a conspiracy of silence and denial. We act shocked (and of course saddened) when an acquaintance or loved one dies. Look at the evidence. We have no exceptions to this rule. Not to live in despair or doom we must look at truth head-on to really live. One of the strongest human fears is that of uncertainty. It can shrink in the evidence of certainty. We know what that certainty is about life. The body always betrays us. We must be attached to more than our physical body to be a survivor. We must inhabit our spirit and our mind. This is transendence. For me it is God’s grace granting me the faith to have purpose and comfort.
Phase Four
Okay. Back to the Oreo cookie analogy . Interesting that during this time Oreo came out with “double stuff” cookies. Just after my second cream filling came another black cookie layer! Because the cancer had spread we moved from hormone therapy to another big chemo weapon. Yes, this ammo again inflamed my lungs and resulted in another ventilator dependent icu stay only this time it was during a vacation to another state. What I learned………….strangers did not understand me and my condition as well as my primary oncologist. Because they did not know me they were encouraging my family to let me die. I am a believer in advance directives, but God told me in that ER very strongly that it was not right for me to execute that decision at that time.
Again, a 3 week stay and a 5 month rehab taught me patience. This time I really surrendered to accepting life as it came to me and the journey has been blessed. Friends, strangers, grandchildren, events have encircled me and sustained me to my core. I see that I have never needed anything I wasn’t provided although the grace frequently came at a different time and in a different form than I anticipated.
In January of this year I had a 3rd such episode and emerged from the ventilator realizing that we had taken enough risks from chemo and were now on our own.
I live in the spirit of love, faith and God’s grace dispensed to me. We all do and when you doubt just experience His gentle hand on your shoulder, love in the faces around you and receive hope. God is preparing a place for me and I hope that I am preparing for Him.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Should I let go of what I have in hopes of something better?
Six-month old baby Ryan sat in his playpen, pacifier in mouth.
His big blue eyes rested upon another pacifier sitting in the playpen.
He wore an expression of puzzled, pained exasperation.
What do I do?
He briefly tried putting the pacifier on his forehead, into his ear and onto another toy.
Aren’t we often totally satisfied with what soothes us until we see something else come across our path leaving us in dire indecision and discontentment?
Aren’t we often totally satisfied with what soothes us until we see something else come across our path leaving us in dire indecision and discontentment?
Monday, June 1, 2009
Meerkat Motto
Respect the Elders, Teach the Young,
Cooperate with the Family.
Play when you can, Work when you should
Rest In Between.
Share your Affection, Voice your Feelings,
Leave your Mark.
© Fellow Earthlings' Wildlife Center, Inc.
This motto is extremely wise advice. I love visiting the meerkats at the Houston Zoo. It is such a loyal and ethical society. One of my miniature-sized cats, Mercy, often seems to be a meerkat.
They leave us a powerful example as they begin the day the entire group faces East. At sunset the mob faces West. I want to remember to begin and end my days looking at my God.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
