Yesterday I had my first official haircut!  It was getting a little bushy.  I have been putting it off, for fear that, we would cut my curls off and they would be gone. My sporty new look is fun and easy.  I do not want to loose it.  Basically, we trimmed the sides in close and thinned the top.  Then she used a STRAIGHTENING IRON to style it!  Can you believe that? She had to pull the curl OUT to style my hair.  That has to be a first.  The curls are still there, as I continue to adjust to having them.  Some days it is wavier, other days it is curly.  It completely depends on the weather.  I now understand why all my curly headed friends hate the rain.  There is no controlling curly hair.  Straight hair on the other hand is the same forever…straight. 

I think the fact that no one is happy with the hair they have been given is a testimony to our human condition.  We always seem to want what we cannot have. My nose is too big, my ears too small.  My eyes are too close together or the wrong color.  I wish my legs were longer.  If only I were short. On and on it goes each time we look in the mirror.  The problem is that when we are not satisfied with how God created us, we are questioning him.  We are suggesting that he did not actually know what he was doing when he made our attributes.  Yet he says we are fearfully and wonderfully made.  He knitted my straight hair into my head when I was yet in my mother’s womb.  It says a lot about my relationship with him when I allow the commercials, magazines, and media to tell me what is beautiful.  I am a one of a kind creation made by the creator of the universe and I am trying to look like a girl on a magazine cover? 

The really cool thing is that God is big enough to make my straight hair curly.  Never mind the way I got my curly hair, the fact is, he has the power to change things. In regards to the looks of our earth suits, he does not often exercise this power.  He loves what he created…who he created.  In his opinion, he made you just the way he wants you.  Why change?  You are his perfect creation…curls or straight or bald…I have had them all and he loved me through them all because He made me beautiful.

Have I forgotten you all? No way.  I just am overwhelmed with activity as of late.  I have much to share but little time to write it down to get it out there. Now that Peter's football season is over, I am hoping to have more writing time during the week.  I am going to try to carve it out.  This week I have to work the third grade musical.  We are using grant money to fund some of the costumes and such...so that fell to me...grant co-director.  I do not mind it, but it is a lot of extra work...so I will busy Monday and Tuesday evenings with that.  Hopefully, I will get some new things written and posted by Wednesday. 

Have you ever felt like you were over something only to find it brought back to the surface?  I mean I knew I would never get over having cancer, but my past few weeks at breakneck speed it has been almost possible to forget.  Not in the quiet places, but in the activity it seems as if it was all a bad dream.  Yesterday the deep places cried out again at the finale of the 3-Day walk for breast cancer.  It does not matter that I did not have breast cancer.  They do not have a walk for ovarian and uterine cancer, but that is beside the point.  The point is that almost 3,000 people walked 60 miles to raise money for cancer research.  One of those 2,500+ people was my sister, Melinda.  That was the point. 

As I stood at the finish line waiting with my family, I shed tears when each group of women crossed the line.  For hours they came.  Many were themselves in tears because they had made it for someone, in memory or in honor.  I could not help but wonder about the stories of each one.  There has to be something monumental to drive you to walk 60 miles in three days.  I watched a little girl make a sign to wave that said, “in memory of my mom.”  People around us had items of remembrance to wave as the walkers came.  A blue and yellow striped scarf and a pumpkin hat were solemn expressions of love lost.  Many of the walkers wore shirts with pictures of their friends, moms, sisters and daughters. The since of loss was palatable. 

Yet, the celebration of the event brought a great sense of hope.  Hope for a cure. As the women walked, cars rode by at intersections and honked their horns.  People held signs and balloons to motivate the walkers to continue their journey…their mission.  Music was playing and despite blisters, they walked.  My sister walked. I held my bright orange sign with block letters that said YOU DID IT SIS! I AM PROUD OF YOU.  My mom had pink balloons.  Melinda’s children, Sarah and James held bouquets of flowers.  My dad’s camera was snapping. Her husband Steve, my Aunt Betty, and my brother Michael stood as lookouts to spot her coming. It was a family affair. I cannot really describe how my heart felt to see her coming across the street to the finish line. It caused my tears to flow harder, and in our embrace I felt joined in the journey…she in mine, and I in hers. We were united together against a common enemy.  The hug acknowledged the hard fought battle on both our parts, her determination to walk and my determination to live.

The closing ceremony was a celebration of massive proportions. The atmosphere was electric, as if Olympic athletes were entering the park. Only they were not Olympic athletes, they were normal everyday people…walking with a purpose.  Teachers, business people, moms, all people like you and me.  They marched in arm in arm, some limped, and some danced. All smiled. Inspiring pink banners moved through the crowds when the walkers approached. Over 350 volunteers filed in behind the participants as they all arrived at the victory circle. Thousands of spectators surrounded thousands of participants in one huge show of unity. 

Then, came the survivors.  The speaker shared moving words of hope and courage as they entered the center of the circle. The deep places of my painful journey surfaced as the rivers of tears flowed down my cheeks. Mom joined me with a tearful embrace, and we stood holding one another in remembrance of the past year. The walkers lifted thousands of shoes in a salute of honor, as if to acknowledge the pain of the walk was minimal compared to the journey of surviving cancer.  It was an overwhelming step towards the healing of emotions for everyone touched by this disease.

 I left feeling inspired, as if my journey was not in vain, but was one that touched those around me. The same is true of my sister and her team.  Their determination to make a difference raised $68,000!  Eighteen amazing women, empowered to walk for 3 days…what a journey!

And now my readers, that brings me to you and all those that gave to this event.  Amazing and inspirational describe you as well.  You rose to the occasion and gave.  You may not feel you did that much however, the final total for all of the donations was 6.6 million dollars, and every dollar counted.  For the walkers, the journey was long and hard.  Families that have lost loved ones, as well as those of us that have survived, appreciate all the effort from so many to do so much.  My sister said it well, “For these three days it was as the world should be.  Everyone got along and was united to work together.”  I could not have said it better myself.  Thanks sis!

Part of Living Fully is grabbing opportunities when they present themselves.  After hearing about an exhibit at Carlos Museum at Emory, I decided to do something I rarely do…take a personal day.  The exhibit is The Cradle of Christianity and it is a collection of artifacts from Israel during the time of Jesus.  I heard about it from a woman at my school.  The problem was that it ends this Sunday and our schedules are packed this weekend (the exhibit will be too).  What an opportunity to see some amazing things from that time period!  And since Hannah has an interest in all things archeological, I decided to jump out and go.  I threw caution to the wind and pulled my daughter out of school to take her to a museum.  I know that is not all that big a deal to play hooky to go to a museum.  In fact, many would say that it is a boring thing to do if you are going to cut school, but it was freeing to do something together in which we are both interested. I called my dad and he came with us.  A three generation hooky day!

The things we saw were priceless.  The exhibit had some wonderfully preserved artifacts from both Jewish and Christian traditions.  There were burial boxes that they used to bury the bones of the deceased.  They had the box of Caiaphas, the priest that handed Jesus over to Pilate.  There was part of a Dead Sea Scroll that describes a third temple.  My favorite thing was a piece of the temple that was inscribed the trumpeting place.  It was from part of the temple where the priests stood to blow the trumpet for the gatherings of worship.  Room after room of mosaics, and history of the places Jesus walked.  He saw many of the same pieces that I looked at today.  There is something about that.  I have always loved history because of the way items tell a story.  Today, what I saw was part of THE greatest story. Hannah was enthralled.  There is a sense of mystery in viewing these kinds of artifacts, like pieces of a puzzle.  After this, there are more traditions I want to study.  I want to see and learn the secrets God has locked up within them.  It was a fabulous day to play hooky! 

            I love living in the mountains.  Right around the nearest curve there is a scene that changes with every sunrise. Each hour in the day brings subtle differences that show the never-ending palate of God.  This afternoon, a passing shower left a curtain of white blanketing the fields, and the mist was thick, considering it was daytime.  Trees hidden from view, horses invisible, and the fence was barely an outline. A blur of gray-white cloud enveloped the scene of God.  If I did not know the view well, I would have questioned if what I was seeing were real or shadow.  However, in the background the stately, solid mountains towered within the mist.  The haunting smokiness of cloud obstructed a full view. Yet, with knowing eyes, I could see that there was a charcoal edge breaking through the hanging clouds. I could make out the shadows that were the mountains.  For a moment, it was disarming to think that something as huge as a mountain could simply disappear from view. Yet, when I recognized the shape of the shadows, I felt a familiar comfort in their presence.

There are times when life is as foggy as the mountains after the rain.  Everything seems shrouded from view, and covered with mist.  Even regular daily choices seem unclear, and it is hard to walk in faith when God seems this invisible.  We try to trust him, but we can barely make out the outlines of the life around us, until…we sense his shadow.  It takes something gigantic to make that kind of a shadow.  Somehow, the overcast scene becomes familiar, and we see the steadfastness of God through the clouds. First, it is just the edge, but when we look through knowing eyes, we begin to see the truth.  He is sovereign.  He has not left us alone in the mist, but actually towers over it.  The foundation of his sovereignty is what causes our eyes to know.  He is there.  He is with us.  There is a plan.  When we see this view of shadow and mist, our lives become a scene on a canvas, painted by the creator. We recognize God in the cloud and in the mountain because he has revealed himself to us. The view before us is beautiful, as it teaches us the nature of God.

Good morning!  This weekend was Mountain Day at Berry.  Hannah and I took some friends of ours.  We had such a good time.  Hannah is so excited about the possiblity of going there...it was fun to watch her show her friend around as if she is already there. (She has already applied and we are waiting to hear.) It was a beautiful day and we must have walked miles...up to the resevoir, all over the moutian campus, over to Oak Hill.  It is always fun to go down memory lane.  Berry was such a huge part of my life at the time, that it is like part of my history to go back there.  And if Hannah does end up there, I guess I will be visiting more often than the past few years. 

She is growing up.   That is bittersweet.  I cannot wait to see what she does and where she ends up in life.  It is a new chapter and you know me...a writer, so I cannot wait to see what happens in her story.  But then it is also a closing chapter in my own story.  I have loved this season of life.  Being a mother was my life's goal.  I have lived it and loved it.  Not that I am stopping, but for Hannah my role will change.  I am looking forward to that as I drag my feet trying to slow it down.  Funny how we can be so torn between emotions. In all of this God is working...in me, in her...bringing his purposes about.  All I can say is that I am glad it is his job and not mine. I will wait and see what the next step brings...

          I think that every person needs to be refreshed from time to time.  It is built into us.  Tonight there was a rain that lasted about 3 hours at my house.  I sat on my back porch and listened.  It was gentle, then stormy, then gentle again.  The drops fell steadily, sliding down creating slick, shiny green leaves.  They blew this way and that until finally, they rested.  The consistent beating of the drops made a splashing, humming sound…soothing.  It was comforting in a way.  I found myself transported from my hectic day to a place of refreshing…a restful place that promises a fresh clean tomorrow. The air will be crisp and breathing will be easy.  Green leaves, bright blue skies and cotton candy clouds will be more vivid in the morning light. 

God is like the rain.  Our lives get dry and cracked.  Our souls are parched and thirsty for him.  He desires us, and so he sends the rain of his spirit.  He consistently pours out his drops of love, trying to fill up our dry hearts. Drought conditions leave us desperate. We seek him, he sends a flood, and we go from drought to drowning.  His love overtakes us until we breathe it…in, out, in, out.  We are saturated and rest follows.  After his rain, our hearts are clean.  The heaviness of life is lifted creating a fresh outlook.  His light brightens the day and life seems somehow clearer. The rain washes us clean. It is a steady downpour.  Listen.  Can you hear his refreshing rain?

In John 17 Jesus prays the prayer of all prayers. A student of the scriptures could stay in John 17 for years and not glean all that Christ says in the passage. He knows that he will be killed in a matter of days.  It is the prayer of his death-bed so to speak.  If you knew you would die in three days time what would you pray?  What would be on your heart?

My prayer buddies came over tonight.  We are a small group of moms that love to fellowship and share our lives. Talking, laughing, and praying are three of our favorite things.  We do not get together that often, so when we do it is a blessing.  Our focus is our children. Wrestling through the teenage years has proven to be a prime motivator for prayer on our parts.  Tonight the discussion led us to question how to let go and still parent at the same time. It is a tight rope to walk. I was reading here in John 17, looking for something specific, when this part of the prayer jumped out at me.  It is the part where he prays for the disciples.  It makes me think about my children because it just sounds like something I would pray for them.  When I thought I might die, I had similar thoughts and prayers. 

“I have revealed you to those whom you gave me…I pray for them not the world for they are yours…protect them by the power of your name….While I was with them, I protected them and kept them safe…I have given them your word and the world has hated them, for they are not of the world anymore than I am.  My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one.  Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth.” 

If I am gone, or when my children leave the nest (coming very soon) I desire for them to cling to the word of God with which I have instructed them.  I know that they will not fit in here.  None of us who are followers of Christ do.  Yet I want them to walk in the truth. 

I had never thought of this prayer in this way before.  Check out the whole section from verse 6-19 and see if you do not agree with me. I guess when you think about it the disciples were his spiritual children.  I understand the heart behind the prayer by reading this passage from a parent’s perspective.  It causes me to know that Christ himself desires for my children to be cared for and protected.  As we send our children out into the world and away from us, we can rest easier knowing that Christ prayed this prayer and understands our desire for our children to know him.

If that was not enough, he goes on to pray for us.  He was about to die when he looked into the future and saw you and me. We were the prayers of his heart that night.  Whew, how humbling is that?  I was looking for this part of the prayer, when I stumbled onto the previous section, because this part talks about unity in the spirit.

“That all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you.  May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me.  I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one.  I in them and you in me.  May they be in complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.” 

Thinking about worship led me to this passage.  As I wrote about last week, worship is when our spirits unify with God’s glory.  It is uniting with God and each other in a powerful spiritual moment in time.  Here in John 17, it seems to describe this very thing.  We have been given the glory of God in order to become one with him.  When we enter into worship corporately this happens…united in heart and purpose.  The peace flows and glory is tangible in his presence.  It is what we hunger for. According to this passage, the purpose of this worship is that the world would know Christ, through watching us.  He gives us each different gifts and ways in which to worship him.  When we are worshiping him individually, he reveals himself to us through these gifts.  As we come together these individual gifts, blend into one body…the unity he is talking about in this passage, one may sing, another may dance. I am inspired to write, another is led to study his word.  All receive from him during these times of communion. We are one with him and each other. It is when we go out into the world refreshed, after such a time of worship that he draws them to us.  They see the joy and peace and long to share it.  They dare to imagine that relationships could be loving, as they witness the unity of the body.  This worship and the glory he pours out, is a billboard for God.  It is what Jesus most wanted to see when he prayed this prayer.  When we enter in to worship, his prayer is fulfilled. 

I love being in the presence of God.  There is nothing like it.  And while I love my personal secret place with him, there is just something about worshiping him when two or more are gathered.  A few people went to a friend’s house this past weekend to worship.  It was a casual time…sweet really.  I love it when his presence comes and you can feel his glory surrounding you. Peace settles like a blanket over the room and all who are in it.  You can feel your spirit begin to rest…sometimes it is when you are singing powerful words, other times it is when all is quiet.  New songs begin to flow from this place.  Many of the worship songs and hymns we sing were born here.  When our hearts cry out to him and his spirit answers, we are united with him and each other. In these moments, I never want to leave.  That is what heaven will be like someday.

            I think it is why, as believers, we are so set in our styles of worship. Whatever was happening when we first experienced his presence is what we long for. If you are a “hymn person” you have experienced the powerful words that usher you in.  If you are a “worship chorus” person you have repeated who he is until you feel your spirit believe it. Either way you are caught up into his presence.  I must admit these moments are what keep me coming back.  Oh, I know that worship is more than this feeling of peace, but wow, it sure is great to be surrounded by his glory. This past weekend was no exception. 

At the end of these worship times it never fails that someone, maybe everyone, says, “I needed that.”  It is as if in all the hustle and bustle of life we have forgotten how much his presence soothes us. When we are resting in the afterglow of glory, it occurs to us that we need this.  It is life sustaining, but more than that, it is relationship building.  There is a deep and abiding love that flows from the throne.  It is intimate, and we can only access it if we bow at his feet, a humbling but powerful place to be.  Giving up all that we are, to acknowledge his grace and goodness in worship revives us.  I do not know about you but I need reviving. 

After this time of communion, I was driving down the road thinking…just relishing the freshness I felt.  All was quiet in the car except for my mind.  I was expressing how grateful I was to the Lord for such a wonderful time with him when I said, “Lord I really needed that.”  And in his quiet life altering way he said to me, “I needed it too.”  One paradigm shifting sentence that hit me so hard I had to stop.

 God needs us?  He needs our worship?  He desires communion with my spirit…our spirits.  How many times have we sat in church just going through the motions when he was longing for us to enter in?  How many times have we just sung the words without understanding that we were on Holy ground?  This idea, this one quietly spoken sentence, exposed the heart of God.  He longs to meet with us corporately and pour out his peace.  He wants us to join together in humbly bowing to acknowledge who he is.  The quiet, the loud, hymns, or choruses…doesn’t really matter to him…he says, “Just worship me.  I need it.”  When we do, he comes and worships with us.  That is why we feel his presence so strongly…because he is there. He longs to know how we love him. It is not a style issue…it is a heart issue. Do we really know this?  If we did, I think it would revolutionize how we worship.  Our praises would meet his glory and we would experience heaven on Earth, because he needs to be with us as much as we need to be with him. He died for us after all.  To die for someone who doesn’t acknowledge you must be heartbreaking.  Fellowship, communion, and intimacy usher in his presence and his peace.  I don’t know about you, but I need that as much as he does. 

Who knew?  I mean you know that your kids are watching you.  You just do not fully understand what they see and how they see things.  This week Hannah had to write a paper about someone who inspired you other than a parent or a grandparent.  She go special permission to do me because of my cancer.  I was touched that she would do this.  Then to read her final paper I was completely amazed at all she wrote...she was watching and it is interesting to see her perspective of our year in writing.  I asked her permission to include her paper here...so here it is.  I am a blessed woman.

Fighting for Life

 

 “We need you to come home. It is important.”  My dad sounded serious, and I knew that something was terribly wrong.  As I drove home, a knot rose in my stomach.  I arrived to a somber scene; the anxious faces of my younger brothers were like statues frozen around my parents.  I had never seen my normally rambunctious siblings so placid. 

 

As my mom wept quietly, my dad’s strained voice choked out, “Your mom has ovarian and uterine cancer.”  This news hit me like a heavy weight boxer, right in the gut.  Suddenly thrown into the fight not knowing the rules, or how to throw a punch, it was as if my opponent backed me into a corner. I felt stunned, as if punched for the first time.  I could have never imagined that this could happen to my family.

 

A week later, the anxiety of my mom’s looming hysterectomy stole her positive outlook on life. She was afraid.  Chemotherapy came later, and for me, the hardest part of that was seeing my mom without her thick, coarse, black hair.  Baldness revealed how vulnerable she really was.  I realized she might not always be alive to help me.  It finally dawned on me in that moment, that my mom really was sick and that reality was a nightmare.  Chemotherapy sucked the life from her, she could no longer take care of our family by herself or teach students, two things she prided herself in doing.  Going up and down the stairs became a chore, and she would pull herself up by the handrail stopping every few steps to rest. She began to lose the color in her cheeks, and as her eyebrows fell out, her eyes were as piercing as two candles lit in a dark room.   Even though her eyes had lost their vividness and become dull, they still had determination of a warrior.  The physical changes in my mom were hard to watch, I had always looked up to her.  However, her courage to make it through gave the rest of the family hope that we would survive.

 

Through the rollercoaster ride, we call cancer; my mom still managed to keep our household up and running by delegating her responsibilities.  She encouraged many people by writing a blog each day about the trials she endured.  There were many tears even though she tried to be strong.  In those breakdown moments, I would see strain along with agonizing pain and I hurt with her.  

 

It was a relief the day my mom finished chemotherapy.   Joyful tears flowed as our family celebrated life.  Her hair began to grow back, but this time it was as soft and fine as a newborn baby’s.  Vivid hazel eyes emerged with a newfound sparkle and the rosy color in her face surfaced again.  Sometimes I still cannot believe that just last year she could barely get out of bed. 

 

Her new motto is “Live Fully.”  That is just what she does…live everyday with a purpose.  I see my mom through new eyes now, not just as my mom, but also as a strong woman of character.  The way she looked to God through everything, and almost always had a smile on her face, makes me proud that she is my mom.  I hope that one day I will have the same strength, character, and hunger for the Lord that she does.