I read something today… “Love and hurry are oil and water: they simply do not mix.” (John Mark Comer) Oh man does that resonate with me. I’ve written a lot lately about the value of time…but stick with me for yet another post about it cuz this is good.

“Slow down” is a value that has really taken root in my soul since I got the ‘you have cancer’ call, a call that came after three other major traumas and life-upheavals in the span of 7 months, all of which were teaching me—without me realizing it—moment by moment, trauma by trauma—the transformative depth to it. 
Of course, right off the bat, the day I got the call, it wasn’t even close to being about ‘choosing to slow down’… I remember sitting in a chair at my office, paralyzed, afraid to even move a muscle, in the most literal of senses. I had been blown up by one-too-many freight trains. Seriously, I couldn’t move, dreadfully afraid of what was coming. Little did I know, once I got the courage to stand up from my chair and go talk to my boss, that around every corner throughout the process of diagnosis over the coming weeks, the bad news would just keep coming…
So, at the front end of this lesson, fear was certainly the driver behind my slow down. I felt like near-frozen molasses on a winter day, trudging along simply because I didn’t have the capacity for much else. And it stayed like that far into chemo when then it became less about fear and more about this reluctant, whether-I-like-this-or-not acceptance, still trudging through like cold molasses because, again, I couldn’t manage much else. As I’ve crept along, step by step, fear —> reluctant acceptance —> transformative change being intentionally lived out in survivorship, I have found that even if the catalyzing element (fear, acceptance, transformation) has changed, my desire to slow down hasn’t. Hence why the quote that I read today resonated so deeply. 

The layer I added today – – – you cannot love well when you’re in a rush. 

Think about it… One, it is just is too hard to invest in another person when you’re hardly taking time to invest in yourself. Two, if you’re always moving quickly between things, you’re not able to pay attention to much else other than what is right in front of you and even that probably only gets a because-I-have-to momentary glance. Three, if you’re busy and you’ve packed your schedule, you simply don’t have the time to give to the unscheduled thing or person that may need it. And Four (and this one’s the kicker), if you are unable to slow down, you are then unable to have ……. now this one may sting a bit …… meaningful relationships. And yes, I just said that. Sure, you’ll have relationships with people even when you’re in a hurry, but they will not be genuine, authentic, meaningful, reciprocating, life-giving. 

When we’re in a hurry, we make judgements, we assume, we inaccurately narrate someone else’s intentions because we don’t take the time (or think they are worth our time) to slow down, to learn their story, or to discover the truth about them by listening – unshackled by our presumptions, however gathered. We can do such damage to others when we take the easy (fast) road to conclusions because the slow down to truth is too much effort.

We can do such damage to others when we take the easy (fast) road to conclusions because the slow down to truth is too much effort.

I’ve lived both sides of this spectrum—|hurried and presumptuous || slow and loving|—and I am acknowledging the challenge to intentionally and continually practice the latter. Just like John Mark Comer said, “Next time you are running late, just pay attention to how you relate with others. Does it look and feel like love?” 

And an additional challenge from me – relentlessly evaluate your relationships – are you relying on your jumped-to-conclusions to deem others worthy (or not worthy) of your slow-down? What changes can you make to “give people the time of day?”

*Post 903

Small :: 9/24/17 :: Post 26

I feel so small. In some of the quiet moments I hear the words, “this is bigger” and I’m not entirely sure what significance that has yet. 

I think it has a few layers of meaning and it’s likely complex as most things are….

I woke up today heavy-hearted after a difficult evening last night…. Parenting still has to happen with or without cancer. Parenting around the value of truth, the value of accountability, the value of taking responsibility and being responsible, the value of standards and not double standards…. Having difficult conversations with daughters when emotions are high, when we don’t know what is the “old” normal and what is maybe coming from underlying stress due to our new uninvited family member, when relationships feel fragile, when footing feels undeniably uncertain, when faith and love and resilience are being tested is unquestionably one of the hardest things we’ve ever faced. And watching those daughters learn really hard life lessons in the midst of fragile relationships, uncertain footing and one of life’s most difficult tests, is without a doubt, even harder. “This is bigger”

I woke up today expecting an emotional day…. My family: Chris and the girls, my mom (my dad went to the ER last night so he couldn’t go…yeah, I know…as if we don’t have enough going on…my poor dad is in pain, too) and a large number of extended family and friends, all walked in the Race for the Cure event today in my honor. They wore shirts that my cousin designed that said, “Amber’s Army” on the front and had my favorite saying on the back. They organized themselves and walked together in solidarity for me. I never, in a hundred years, thought *I* would be the one being walked for. They told me that even the emcee gave a shout-out to “Amber’s Army” as they embarked on the walk. And they all held hands as they crossed the finish line. I sat at home overwhelmed by the effort and time and energy that converged into one place at one time to fight with and for me in this unwanted battle. I sat at home praying and seeking stillness in the emotions I was in to find what the Lord had for me in this difficult space of them-there-and-me-here-because-they-were-walking-for-ME-with-thousands-of-others-walking-for-their-“me’s”. “This is bigger”

I woke up today tired and sore…. I didn’t sleep well. I crash hard quickly and sleep soundly for a few hours and then I sleep pretty fitfully for the rest of the night. I can’t change positions too much without putting pressure on these necessary-evil drains and yet my back needs relief every now and then. My body needs sleep. My body is working hard to repair itself from a significant trauma (surgery AND a horrible car accident). My liver is working overtime as it metabolizes meds that are so foreign. And, well, my body doesn’t even know what is coming next. Yet, when all of those toxins are flowing through my veins and when I sit and have my body radiated, it will do what it has to do to kill the thing that is trying to kill me. The human body…as broken as it is…is incredibly resilient…each system created in it, each organ doing its job. And I am banking on that for my survival. All of my eggs are in that basket. “This is bigger”

I woke up today anxious for the week ahead… We have some big things happening. We have a results appointment tomorrow morning at 9:30am. The cards will be laid on the table. We will know if the cancer has spread or not. We will either be able to move forward with a designed plan or we will have to develop a new one. Then on Tuesday I have my chemo port installed (where much discomfort will occur). Wednesday, a post-op with my plastic surgeon where I will hopefully get these drains removed and I will be expanded once again (where much discomfort will occur), and Thursday I will have physical therapy (where much discomfort will occur)…. We will once again sit with medical professionals that discuss with us the future, discuss my diagnosis and prognosis, make decisions regarding my life…. We will once again navigate medical conversations and procedures that we have never experienced before (our learning curve has been rock-face-steep for a month and a half straight)…. We will once again put my life in the hands of medical professionals doing their jobs, bonding to them quickly, trusting them fully and learning from them infinitely more information than we ever wanted to know due to the circumstances. “This is bigger”

I guess I feel small in all of this because there are so many complexities. There are so many people. There are so many variables. There is so much unknown. There is so much out of my control. There are entities that exist in my world now that I never imagined would. There are relationships created that I never expected. There are experiences that require literal moment-to-moment pliability.

I guess I feel small tonight because this is all so much bigger than me. God weaves a beautiful tapestry. It is connective and collective. God has a vision far beyond what I can see and He weaves beauty and good in every thread (even when it is ugly). God knows the big picture…He will design this to integrate every complexity, every person, every variable, every unknown, every entity, every relationship, every experience… He will design it to impact and influence much more than just me.…..And me, I am to trust His creativity. 

Small, yes…but certainly not insignificant.

Toxic :: 9/24/18 :: Post 376

Worked some today. That was hard.

I had a moment, while meeting with my boss, where I could actually feel fog come over me and I had to work really hard to focus on the words coming out of her mouth. And, in turn, focus hard on the words coming out of my own. It was so odd. And so palpable. And nothing I’ve experienced before. I didn’t even feel that during “chemo brain.”

Pure exhaustion?

Body, heart, soul and mind being fried?

Hormones? Or, well, a lack of them?

The reality of a year and a half of trauma?

I had a brief coffee date with a dear friend right before I went to the office and while we were talking, a word came out of my mouth that I used to describe how I feel on the inside. Toxic. 

Duh. I know. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve had chemo. And radiation. And a crap-ton of meds for all of these surgeries. Nonetheless, it was a difficult word to actually wrap my head around once I said it. 

And even now, as I write tonight, I sit in a “really, cancer?” space. 

And this most recent surgery – waaaaaaay harder than I was prepared for. Ugh. 

Struggle :: 9/24/19 :: Post 739

My heart is heavy. It’s tough to watch my kids hurt. There is a little part of me that wishes I could save them from hurting but I know all too well that struggle brings resilience.

Lord, hold them close.