Pink Story: A Day of Radiation Treatment

When I'm finished in the waiting room, the technicians come and get me for my radiation treatment.  I recorded every detail of what it was like to receive treatment.  No one explained the details of what it would be like to go through treatment.  It isn't something people talk about.  Few people know a lot about radiation treatment.  Here is my experience with it:

I follow the technician through the 12-inch thick door, the first sign that this treatment is dangerous.  This door keeps the radiation in the room.  The room is large, too large for the big machine, another sign of the danger.  The radiation needs plenty of space to disperse so it won’t affect the people coming in and out.  Now, begins the worst part.  I am getting used to it after 15 days, but not really.  I get to take off my shirt that already revealed too much.  Yep, take it off.  The machine, although very powerful can’t get through my shirt.  I take it off and use it to cover the right breast, the one that doesn’t need the radiation.  It is much more modest to only have one breast hanging out for all to see than two.  I know this isn’t true, but I do it anyway, the technician will even arrange the shirt over my right breast nicely so I am more fully covered.  My right breast is fully covered, my left breast is sitting all by itself completely revealed for all to see.  I sit on the table.  It’s probably supposed to be a bed, but it’s hard and flat like a table.  I lay down and place my head in the plastic head thing that has been adjusted just for me.  I raise up my knees so they can put a blue cushion, pillow thing under them.  Its supposed to make me more comfortable. They strap a blue rubber loop around my feet so I won’t cross them.  If I cross my feet, I will change position and that would be very bad because then the radiation will hit parts it is not supposed to hit.  I raise my arms, revealing my hairy armpits I’m not allowed to shave, I can shave the right side, but that would be weird, and grasp the handlebars also set just for me.  The technicians line up my tattoos with the lasers all around the room.  They set the table to the correct levels calling out numbers and watching the lighted ruler that displays on my chest.  I visit with the technicians a little, it makes the process and my lonely boob feel a little less horrible.  

They say “here we go” and exit the room, being sure to fully close the mammoth door and leave me alone with the machine.  The machine moves into place.  There is a lit scene of mountains and streams covered with trees and a little snow on the wall, but it’s not exactly in my line of vision and I can’t find anything interesting or curious in the picture. Instead I look at the white tiles on the ceiling. The machine hovers over my right side angled at the right side of my left breast.  It makes static noises as the metal tube-looking things change position.  Then it makes a high pitched buzz as it zaps me with an invisible dose of radiation.  It gets static-y again then makes a lower pitched buzz as it zaps me with a different invisible dose of radiation.  I have counted the seconds.  The first dose takes 8 seconds.  The second dose takes 10 seconds.  The machine sings static again and shifts to the left side of my body.  It moves slightly below the table where I can’t see the metal tubes anymore.  The technician comes in and moves the table so I am in the correct position.  She leaves me alone and I wait for the static again.  The machine does its zapping again, this time zapping the left side of my left breast.  I count 10 seconds for the high and 8 seconds for the low.  The machine moves right over the center of my body.  I know that I am finished, but I stay in my awkward position waiting until the technician graciously says “you can put your arms down.”  I try to nonchalantly cover up with the pink shirt.  I wait for the table to lower. I was 5 feet up in the air, as much as I would love to jump off the table, I have to wait.  I lie there as she removes the pillow from under my knees and the rubber loop from my feet.  Once the table is lowered, I sit up, put my feet on the floor and dress in my pretty pink shirt.  Once again there is a little small talk followed by “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  I walk out of the bomb proof room into the small waiting room. No one is there because I am the last patient for the day.  I unlock my clothes, choose another dressing room and put myself back together.  The trip out is much like the trip in, I look for clues that I am heading in the right direction through the maze of doors and scenic mountain pictures.  Once I know I am heading the right way, I walk a little faster, slip out the doors and begin going home.  I will do this again tomorrow and the next day.  I have 18 days left.  The last day will have only one difference from all the others.  No one will say “I will see you tomorrow.”

Stand for Something

When I was 13 I had a bookmark with the "Teen's Creed" on it.  It had a list of wise things for a teenager to believe or follow.  I kept it by my mirror and read it often.  The only statement I remember from that bookmark came at the end: "Stand for something or you'll fall for anything."

As a teenager, I needed that statement.  I needed to be reminded to stand up for myself.  If I didn't, I would get trampled. If I gave in to one thing I didn't believe or didn't want to do, it would be easier to give in to another.  The worse part is that people know they won you over and they will be even more relentless in the battle in the future.  It was a good reminder that it was okay to stand up for what I believed in.

I still need that statement.  As an adult, I need to be reminded that I am my own advocate.  I am the only person who can communicate my needs or desires to those around me.  They can't read my mind. They can't see what I see.  They can't feel what I feel.  I have to communicate.  I have to speak my mind, hopefully in patience, kindness and love, and share what is going on with me or I get trampled. Those around me will begin to think they can say what they want and do what they want and I will lay down and be their door mat.

In some areas of my life, I acquired the strength to stand up for what I believe in and what I need.  In some areas of my life, I still have too much fear and I let people walk over me.  I want to be able to say that I always stand up for myself, that I always make my needs known.  I'm not worried about falling for things, I'm worried about falling and getting trampled.

Pink Story: Time to Enter the Radiation Room

Radiation treatment spanned from mid-December to the end of January.  During one of my visits, I payed close attention to every detail.  After my daily waiting area experience the nice technicians would come and get me.  They were always nice.  I actually missed them when it was all over, but I didn't miss the treatment.

Before long, I hear footsteps from down the hallway.  Its likely my turn since I’m the only one here.  They smile and tell me they are ready, as if this is going to be fun.  We walk beyond the sign that says “this is a treatment area, please don’t come back here” (my paraphrase).  This room, or enclave, has a long tall counter and 2 computer screens where they will monitor my treatment and watch me. They ask for my name and birthday.  They already know the answer.  It’s how they identify that I am the right person.  I think this is comical.  Who came up with this system.  Are there a lot of people trying to get radiation treatment under someone else’s name?  Is that why they started this protocol in the first place?  Are the technicians having difficulty with their memories in that they wouldn’t recognize a patient from one day to the next?  If these are really problems, is my recitation of my name and birthday really the best way of identification?  Couldn’t I easily tell another person the answer to that?  

I recite my name and birthday.  Sadly, it takes me a moment to remember, then it flows off my tongue quite easily as if I’ve always known the answer to that question.  

It May Be a Detour

We often find ourselves in a place where we are wondering if we made a mistake.  Did we make the wrong decision?  Did we jump at that opportunity without thinking it through?

I've had those thoughts plenty of times.  It's possible that we make mistakes along the way, but we usually can't undo them.  The best thing to do is look at where you are and make the decisions you have the power to make.  You can't move in reverse.  You can't click "undo."  You can't yell, "do over." You can only be present.  You can only make choices about what you will do next.  You can only move toward the future.

If you are in that place, wondering if somewhere along the way you made a mistake: yesterday, last month, last year, or 15 years ago, it doesn't matter.  It is in the past, you are in the present with the future ahead of you.  Don't think about this part of your journey as a mistake.  Think about it as a detour.

There are two kinds of detours.

There are detours where someone else makes you take a different route.  The road may be closed or under construction. You don't have a choice.  You must travel this other road and you will eventually get to your destination; it will simply take longer.  There was road construction in Yellowstone.  It took an hour to travel what should have taken 10 minutes.  While we were slowed down, we saw a herd of elk, a bald eagle and a bear.  We also had a lot of time to visit with each other.  While we were waiting in the car, a large rainstorm came. If we had arrived at our destination when we wanted, we would have been hiking in the rainstorm instead of safely dry in the car.

The other kind of detours are the ones that we cause.  We take a wrong turn or aren't paying attention or get lost.  We take a route we didn't intend.  Sometimes we are so off course, we aren't sure if we will ever get back on track.  We went for a hike through some unknown woods once.  We took at least an extra hour to get back to camp.  Some people were scared and nervous because it was getting dark. Some people enjoyed the trip.  It was beautiful and peaceful.

You never know what you will learn on these detours.  You don't know what you will see.  Sometimes the detour is keeping you from something more harmful you can't see yet.  Sometimes it's there to make you slow down and pay attention.

Don't get discouraged by mistakes in your life, they are simply detours.  You will get where you want to be.  Enjoy the journey.  Whether it is long or short, it's a new adventure that you can tell stories about one day.

Pink Story: Radiation in the Waiting Room

I get there early.  I check in, they know my name.  When the secretary sees me, she checks her computer then tells me I am checked in.  The other secretary tells them she’ll let them know I am here.  I walk back towards the offices.  I turn left and am immediately lost even though I’ve been here 15 times.  I have to read the signs leading me back to the special radiation oncology waiting room.  After I turn left again I recognize the doors and chairs and know I have arrived.  I scan the waiting room quickly hoping nobody notices that I am looking at them.  I take a quick right to women’s dressing room.  I look at both rooms.  One of the rooms is towards the back so no one will walk by me, but the one in the front tends to have the gown that fits.  I choose which dressing room to walk into and yank the brown and tan curtain over to the opposite wall trying to close the gaps.  Even though my breasts have been seen by many over the last 3 months, I don’t need to add to that list.  I take down a gown.  It’s a faded light pink top with pink flowers on it.  It has short sleeves, a snap at the top by my collar bone and a snap in the middle of my breast bone.  The bottom two-thirds of the shirt is open.  It’s my job to try to keep that part closed.  I take off my coat, I take off the scarf that is hiding the fact I no longer wear a bra.  I take off my shirt. Finally I take of the cami tank top with the shelf bra built in.  I fold my clothes and place them in the 4 inch by 3 foot locker.  I close the locker, lock it and remove the key attached to the red, spiral, jelly bracelet.  I always use the same locker.  I don’t know why.  It wouldn’t bother me if someone else used it and I had to choose a different one, but I use the same one anyway.  It’s the one on the far right.  That way I would only have one locker neighbor if there were anybody else using the lockers. Its comical that there are 10 lockers.  I’m sure there are never more than 2 people coming and going at a time based on the 15 minutes per person radiation schedule.  Maybe since the lockers are so small some people have to use more than one to put all their things in.

After my clothes are safely locked away, I go out into the small waiting room.  It’s a long, narrow room.  It fits about 8 chairs lined up along one wall facing the opposite wall which is actually holding a counter where I could have coffee, juice or water.  I’m never there long enough to enjoy the beverages, but it’s nice that they are available.  The television is mounted above the beverages and I tend to watch what is on even after the patient before me hands me the remote.  I sit down, carefully checking my two snaps and the large opening, making sure nothing is hanging out.  I always know when something is because people look at me funny or they get uncomfortable.  I sit and wait.  

It's OK to Not Be OK

A dear friend reminded me that I need to tell you that I don't always have it together.  I've learned how to keep moving because I spent time in the ditches.  I've learned how to encourage myself because I've spent time feeling spent and without hope.  I've learned how to be strong because I've spent time being weak.

When I share my observations, lessons and accomplishments they have all come out of pain, sacrifice and fear.  I've felt it all.  I've been down every dark road.  I simply didn't like it.  I didn't like those dark places and always tried to find a way to get out.  Sometimes I would succeed for a minute then fall right back into that dark place again.  Sometimes I would fall over and over and begin to wonder if I would ever figure it out.

It's okay to not be okay.  It's okay to feel sad and to feel pain.  It's okay to want to quit and lay down. It's okay to lose hope and wonder where the light is.  Being in these dark places doesn't mean there is anything wrong with you.  It means you are living life and life is doing what it does.  Circumstances don't always go the way we want.  In fact, circumstances rarely go the way we want.  We find ourselves in dark alleys full of shadows and unknown noises.

It's not okay to stay in the dark place, make your bed and settle in.  You will be there, you may be there over and over, but you don't want to live there.  The dark place reminds you to be thankful for the light. The dark place reminds you of the tough things you have overcome, but it is not the place to live. It is the place to fight to leave.  If you lose the fight and find yourself there again, that's okay.  It's time to fight again.  Eventually, you will be out of there looking back, thankful you didn't take a nap while there.

I still have dark days.  I have dark moments.  I have dark weeks and months.  It is okay to find yourself in the darkest of alleys feeling alone.  It is not okay to decide to stay there and give up hope of being in the light and enjoying the joys of sunshine and joy.

Pink Story: Sick

After only 5 days of radiation treatment, I got sick with the flu.  I went to bed that evening with amazing plans to tackle household tasks since my surgeon gave me the thumbs up to do whatever I wanted.  My plans were thwarted when I woke up with a stomach ache soon followed by vomiting.  I spent the day resting, nibbling crackers, drinking soda, and waiting for the next sign that I needed to run to the bathroom. I spent the next day recovering my strength and feeling the effects of a day without food. I had to think about going back to work the next day while being completely behind in everything.  I'm wasn’t sure I could do this schedule: put in minimal time at work, go to radiation treatment, go to bed early, get sick on the weekend, then do it all over again.

Less House More Home

I give full credit of the title of this post to our dear friends who gave us a sweet gift upon our arrival home.  The gift included a beautiful blue sign saying, "Less House More Home."  My first thought was how thankful I was to have friends that know us so well.  For the past few months we've been talking about how reducing the size of our homes would give us more time to live in them.

So here I am, finally in our new home, finally moved out of our old one.  We tried to move 3 years ago. We've talked about moving for many more years than that.  This time, everything came together perfectly.  Everything worked out.  This time, we moved.

When we were about 5 miles away from our new house after our trip home from Montana, I started getting butterflies in my stomach, the same kind you get when you're about to meet someone new.  I felt anxious and excited.  I was finally going to get to walk into our house when it belonged to us.  I had visited it many times while they were still building it, but I didn't get to move in when my family did. They moved in a week before me.  They got to spend a couple of nights there.  I hadn't been there yet. I was thrilled, yet nervous like it might not like me.  I knew a house couldn't do that, but I felt nervous anyway.

We walked in and saw the thoughtful gift from our friends.  Each day since we came home, I have read that sign over and over as I walk through our house and unpack and organize and make it home.  I'm not sure of the moment when your house becomes your home.  Perhaps it is when the bed shows up, that's where you will sleep.  It could be the arrival of the furniture where you will sit and socialize. Maybe the presence of the dishes upon which you will share meals with family and friends makes it home.  It could be the pictures that decorate the wall and remind you of where you've been and what is important to you that turn it into a home.

For me, it was the moment that I realized I was happy be in it.  I was happy to sleep in my room, to use my bathroom, to clean up the kitchen after a meal, to walk through the halls, to simply see it and know that it is the place where I will rest and settle and enjoy all the gifts life gives.

Technically, the making of a home takes nothing but the presence of a person who settles there.  Our old house was our home for a very long time and we enjoyed it, but there was always something between us and it that didn't mesh.  We were a bit different.  Our old house encouraged us to be separate and live in our own spaces.  Our new ones encourages us to be together, we like being together better.  Our old house asked to be fixed and maintained constantly, our new one enjoys being cared for, we prefer the caring.  Our old house forced it's lifestyle on us, our new one welcomes our lifestyle to exist with it.

We are very happy, very content, and eternally grateful.  We know this is a gift.  We know we are blessed and welcome the many years we have to be at home in our new house.

Pink Story: Being Follows Thinking

December 12, 2012:  “As your thinking goes, so goes your entire being.” (Jesus Calling)

It’s time for me to take this to heart.  My thinking has been pure fear for the last week: fear of what might or could happen as a result of radiation.  What will happen will happen, I will manage then it will be over and I will get all better.  I do not need to dread the next 6 weeks.  I need to walk one day at a time knowing my Daddy gives me grace enough for each day, each moment.  I need to stop trying to tackle all of it at once, relax and take one day at a time.  He has given me strength for today.  My pity party is over.  Thank You for not condemning me while I was in it and for gracefully bringing me out.

Graduation

I know I already shared how I have completed my journey of getting my master's degree, but I want to continue to celebrate.

I've graduated 3 times.  The first time I graduated from high school.  I always knew that graduation would come.  I planned on attending college from a young age so high school graduation was a given. I graduated 3rd in a class of 104 students.  I was proud of my achievements.  I was ready to move on.

My second graduation was from college with my bachelor's degree.  I completed my bachelor's in 3 years and 2 terms (we had 3 terms each year).  I took a term off to get married my sophomore year.  It was difficult being newly married and finishing college, but I did it.  I maintained good grades and had a job upon graduating.  I was proud of my achievements and for working through difficult times.

My third graduation just happened.  I graduated with my master's degree.  I'm actually getting teary-eyed just typing this.  I earned this one.  I hadn't always planned on getting a master's.  When I did, I believed it would benefit me and was excited to embark on the adventure.  I didn't know MS would slow my pace.  I began the degree young and confident and capable.  I'm ending the same, but most of the time I move in slow motion compared to what I used to do.  I can't be reckless with my health. When everyone else is staying up until 1 am to finish a paper, I've been asleep for 3 hours and will have to do it later.  I stopped doing housework to get this degree.  I had to let things go.  I had to learn what was the most important (people) and not worry or even think about anything else.  I fought for this degree.  I sacrificed for it and am more proud of this achievement than anything else I've accomplished. This means more to me than all other graduations and probably always will.  I went through the fire and came out victorious.  I didn't simply survive.  I thrived.

I am eternally grateful to those who helped me achieve this.  I never could have made it alone.  I'm thankful I made it and never let myself quit.

Pink Story: Radiation Day

The day arrived.  December 11th brought my first day of radiation treatment.  The plan was that I would leave school about 30 minutes early each day so I could get to treatment on time.  I already had an aide in my room during that time.  She would simply finish the day with them and send them home as I rushed out the door.  

Unfortunately, on this particular day I felt tired and was feeling a little sick.  I had to ignore my feelings because I had work to do.  I had my radiation treatment to begin.  I found it interesting that I called it “my” radiation treatment as if I wanted to claim it, make sure no one else claimed it.  I suppose it was true, it didn’t belong to anyone else.  

One of the tough things about beginning radiation treatment was that once I began I couldn’t stop.  It was a 6 ½ week process with no break.  I went to treatment 5 days a week.  It was a 35 minute drive each way.  I didn’t get to take a day off or travel or simply call in sick.  I hated that I was afraid of the side effects: skin irritation, hair loss, tiredness. . .  I wished I could believe I wouldn’t feel any of those.  I wished I didn’t have to worry about what soap I would use for the next 6 weeks or which bra I would wear or that I had to stop shaving my armpits.  

They told me my skin would be irritated so I needed to use a mild soap and stop shaving.  I would have to wear a sports bra because a regular one would hurt. I was devastated.  Thankfully it was winter and no one would see my hairy armpit, but the bra thing was more difficult.  I am what most would call blessed in the chest department (I don’t always feel that way), going without a supportive bra while still working was unbearable to think about.  I kept wishing everything could be “normal.”  I wished I could have a day where I didn’t think about cancer.  I wished my life didn’t have to be turned upside down for 6 ½ weeks.

None of these wishes were going to come true for a few months.  Yet, I knew I would be okay.  I just didn’t know how hard I wanted to work at all of this.  I had 2 days of feeling strong and normal the week before.  I would have a new definition of strength after this was over.  I would be okay only because I never had to do any of this alone.  

Finish the Race

"Finish the race."

I've heard this phrase from a variety of places.  What does it mean?  After completing a long, difficult 3 year journey, I think I can answer that question.

Today I am finishing, what some might call, the race.  However, I think there is a problem with the use of the word, race.  It implies rushing or moving quickly and it implies that there is some form of competition.  There were neither of those things in this journey I just completed.

I took one step at a time rather than trying to race ahead.  I watched where I was going carefully rather than trying to hurry to the end.  I even took in the view.  I didn't compare my journey to others, I focused only on my own steps and my own path.  I strode across the finish line with confidence and peace not with my head held down in exhaustion.

I began working on my master's degree in September 2014.  I was ready.  I was excited.  The first class I took was amazing.  I loved learning about new science standards and new ways of teaching.  I told everyone how amazing this program was and I was going to do great.

In January 2015, I lost the use of my left arm for about a month because I had my first MS episode.  I had a difficult time typing papers for my class.  Teaching became a bit of a challenge, but I kept moving.  I kept taking steps down my path.  That summer, I took another class, but I didn't take too many.  I still didn't know what the MS might do to me.  I changed jobs the following September.  That meant that I would be continuing taking classes, working in a new school and teaching a new grade.  It was a lot, but I kept moving.  I kept the next summer easy again.

In the fall of 2016, I was entering my final year of working on my master's degree.  I was entering my second year at this new school and in this new grade; however, my teaching partner had left and I was going to be mentoring the next 6th grade teacher.  Because I kept my first two summers light, I was going to have to take a lot more classes while still teaching.  In 6 months time, from the end of January to the beginning of July, I took 15 credits.  In the previous 2 years, I took a maximum of 6 credits in that same amount of time.  Because of the earlier difficulties and my slow summers, I had to take on a large chunk if I wanted to finish when I had originally planned.

I took one step at a time.  Sometimes, I did one class at a time.  I slept when I was tired.  I ate when I was hungry.  I rested my brain when I had a moment and I kept moving.  Each day I got closer to the finish line.  Each day that I wanted to quit, I reminded myself how far I had come and I simply kept moving.  There was no way that I was going to give up my progress by quitting or letting up at the end.

Finish the race.  Keep moving.  Look at what you have already accomplished and know that you can walk across the finish line with your head held high.  Everyone will cheer you on and celebrate your completion.  It doesn't matter what everyone else does.  It doesn't matter how fast you finish, just keep moving and finish.

Pink Story: Radiation is Scheduled

I got the call on December 6th.  A lady from the Mountain States Tumor Institute, a place that is lovingly called MSTI (misty) called to let me know that my radiation will begin on Thursday, December 11th.  My cancer surgery was scheduled for my grandma’s birthday and my first day or radiation happened on my husband’s birthday.

I was not mentally ready for radiation treatment.  I didn’t know what it was going to do to me and I was very scared.  In my head, I was sure I could handle it fine because I handled everything else fine, but I was still terrified.   Perhaps I was scared of the unknown.  Perhaps I was not giving it to my Daddy (what I call God, because he loves me like a father and I need to remind myself of that) and the fact that I wasn’t letting go was causing me anxiety and fear.

At this point I was so tired, I felt I couldn’t remember anything.  I got overwhelmed easily.  I cried at the drop of a hat.  I knew I needed something from my Daddy, but I didn’t know what it was.  I couldn’t put into words my weaknesses and needs, I just knew they existed.  I felt like my teaching was lacking, my housework didn’t get done and I felt like I just barely made it through days without having any real accomplishments.  

People around me had their own stresses so I didn’t dare add mine to theirs.  I would simply continue to trust.  Then I read another insert from the Jesus Calling book: “Trust Me and don’t be afraid for I am your strength and song.”

It is tough when the mountain looms.  It is terrifying when you feel you are entering a cave without a light, but I have learned, and when I forget, am reminded that with a little faith and trust, I come out okay.  I simply have to keep moving.

Independence Day

This morning, I've been reflecting on the significance of our Independence Day in the United States. Most people celebrate our freedoms. I think the true celebration is our freedom to sacrifice.

As I transition through different moments in my life, I realize that it's my ability and freedom to choose to sacrifice for others that makes me free. All over the world people are forced to sacrifice. They are persuaded to give up their freedoms for their family, their religion or their country. I give up my freedoms everyday. I give up my choice to do whatever I want for peace in my family. I give up the desire to drive 100 miles per hour for the safety of others. Yes, I would love to drive that fast. I choose to give those things up. I choose to be kind. I choose love over my own freedom to do what I want.

Our service men and women choose to devote their lives to their country. Mothers and Fathers choose  to sacrifice a laundry list of things for their children.

It isn't freedom if someone makes you sacrifice something you love. It's freedom when you sacrifice because you love. I am thankful I have this freedom today.

Pink Story: CT scan

On my 36th birthday, I was scheduled to get the CT scan that would map out the area they need to radiate.  Reality began again.  I had a little time off of seeing doctors and thinking about cancer.  It came rushing back on this day.  It was easier when there were no appointments.  I could forget what was going on for short periods of time until something would hurt again.  I would enjoy those moments of forgetfulness.

For the CT scan, I had to lie on an uncomfortable, flat bed.  They lined up 3 lasers.  One of them hit my left side under my arm, the second hit my right side under my other arm and the third one hit in the middle of my sternum.  Once I was lined up and the lasers were in place, I got my first tattoo.  The lady gave it in the old fashioned way, a needle with ink on it.  I got 3 tattoos that resembled a pencil mark in the 3 places the lasers were lined up.  When I go to get radiation, they will use those marks to make sure I am in the same place each time.

I am very anxious about radiation.  What will it do to me?  How will it affect me at my job since I have to get radiation treatment every day?  What side effects will I get?  They said you feel like you have a sunburn and get tired.  Perhaps I won’t get all the side effects they told me about.  Perhaps this will be easy for me.

The unknown was upon me again.  The unknown is a very scary thing.  I need to remember to trust and surrender my worries.  No matter what happens, I need to remember I will be okay.

Focused

These past two weeks, I have been on a college campus, in a small, bare dorm room working on my final classes for my master's degree.  I am either sleeping, eating, going to class, taking a break or doing classwork.  I have had little time for anything else.  My family spent the same amount of time, moving everything we own out of one house and into another.

I know what they are doing and they know what I am doing, but we are not in each other's worlds right now.  They couldn't handle my schedule and I couldn't handle theirs.  We are focused on the task in front of us.  There is nothing wrong with either of our situations. It simply is.

We have those seasons in our lives that require most of our energy and attention.  We know the season won't last forever, but we also know that if it did, we wouldn't last that long.  We know we can maintain for the season and when the season changes we will be thankful that it changed and thankful that we made it.

One of those seasons I can think of is having small children.  When they are infants, it takes all of our energy and attention to care for them.  We feel like we have much less of ourselves.  Eventually, they start helping by feeding themselves and walking.  Before we know it they start helping us not just themselves.

Another season is education.  Finishing high school or finishing college can begin to take the last microbes of energy out of a person.  They have been working hard for so long and that last stretch seems like it may never end.

There are also seasons of pain and hardship.  When my husband and I were first married, we had very little money.  We were blessed each day with everything we needed, but sometimes it came at the last minute and we weren't sure how we would pay the power bill, but we did.  We knew things wouldn't be like that forever, but sometimes, in the midst of those tough days, we wanted to quit.  We wanted to charge it all and forget being responsible. But we didn't.  Sometimes you want to quit.

But you don't.

You don't quit because you know the season will end and a new one will come.  If you don't know that, I am telling you now.  This difficult season will end.  Dig deep, know you are not alone, don't give up the fight.  Maintain your character and your hope and your diligence in getting up and finishing the job set before you each day.  That difficult season will end.  You will breathe, you will get rest. You will see how much you've grown.  Another season will come and you won't be taken out by that one either because it will only be for a little while.  Stay focused on your task.  Stay focused on what is important.  You are strong and will only get stronger for making it through tough seasons in your life.

Pink Story: December

December 1st came, it is another one of my favorite days.  December brings my birthday, Christmas, a break from school and sometimes snow.  It is the best time to stay inside and play games or sit by the fire, all my favorite things.  

My mom told me about my Uncle George’s funeral.  There were over 450 people at his funeral, people he had impacted over his life.  It didn’t matter what he was going through in his own life, it never affected the kind of friend or person that he was.  It was such an amazing legacy to leave.

I watched the end of “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Clarence, the angel, gives George a Bible.  Inside the Bible, he writes:

“Dear George,

No man is a failure who has friends.”

Let me always remember that it is the number of my friends and not the number of my things that makes me successful.