What hope in a world where the devil thinks he has power. Jokes on you, satan. 

*Post 977

A Deeper Understanding of Acceptance :: 12/3/17 :: POST 97

Acceptance is such a complicated aspect of crisis. And maybe in and of itself, outside of a crisis, it is complicated. I feel like acceptance is woven into every element of the crisis cycle… 

Denial is the active trying-to-deny-the-truth-that-is-inherently-known (and when I say ‘known’, that implies a level of acceptance). In this cancer part of my story, I have wrestled with the truth of cancer and while I accept it is happening (because I FEEL it every day) I still have moments of disbelief that I am actually here. When I got that call from the nurse with my diagnosis, I wasn’t surprised. It was like I had known from the moment I felt the lump to actual diagnosis that it was not nothing. It was in fact something. Big. Life shattering. Life altering. Fascinating. 

Acceptance is a part of bargaining in that there is something to bargain with… I’ll exercise every day…I’ll eat a more healthy diet…I’ll spend more time with my kids…I’ll be a better wife…I’ll read my bible every morning…I’ll pray more… 
I’ll ________ if only You’ll save me from the diagnosis. 
I promise I will _________ if You make it not be cancer.
Begging for the opposite of what is expected accounts for the fact that the expected is accepted.

Anger and depression are the emotional manifestations of the acceptance of unwanted truth. Maybe it is the unconscious acceptance…the internal acknowledgement of truth. Maybe anger and depression are clues to the one experiencing the crisis that acceptance is present. I find myself angry at cancer. The cancer in my body that has tried to kill me…the cancer in my body that is requiring the hell of chemo…the cancer in my body that hurts me and takes things away from me. I find that I’m angry at cancer as I see so many people wrecked because of it. I am angry at cancer because I have to walk everyday with the knowledge that I have it. That I’m battling it. That I have to work so hard to survive it. 
And depression – I cry. Often. I cry when I physically hurt……..because of the reality of cancer. I cry when I am emotionally fried…..because of the reality of cancer. I cry when I spiritually feel lonely………because of the reality of cancer. I have also hit spaces of emptiness…of no feeling…of not being able to cry another tear because I am so empty of any more feelings. All because of the reality of cancer. The unwanted but known truth of my crisis is experienced e.v.e.r.y.d.a.y. through my thoughts and feelings. Acceptance.

Resolution is acceptance in practice. I resolve to allow myself to experience this chapter. I resolve to show up to my next chemo appointment even though I dread what comes. I resolve to give in to my body’s need for rest or sleep. I resolve to pray through this. I resolve to continue to invest in relationships because they are worth it. I resolve to trust the research and medical professionals. I resolve to remain hopeful even when I don’t feel hopeful. I resolve to walk this out authentically and resiliently. I resolve to eat even when eating is one of the most difficult parts of this journey. 
I resolve to wake up and battle another day.

I remember writing about acceptance soon after diagnosis and surgery…wondering what it was, how it would feel, if I would ever get “there” as if acceptance were a location on a map or a landmark on this journey. An “X” that marked a treasure so elusive to find but oh so wonderful when found. Wondering if acceptance would be a magic moment where I could say “I’ve arrived” and “I get it” and maybe even “Thank you.”

Yet that is not what I am finding. It’s not a destination…a treasure chest of knowledge…a magic moment. Rather it is woven into every day. Waking up is acceptance. Walking through the day and being present and participatory in it is acceptance. Crying and screaming out in frustration and anger is acceptance. Hope is acceptance. Resilience is acceptance.

Wanting for tomorrow, even if it is hard…..is acceptance.

Soul Searing :: 12/3/18 :: Post 449

I was at an event tonight and the speaker spoke of life experiences that are soul-searing. That is sticking with me so deeply. 

Soul. Searing. 

I’ve found myself to be very reflective these past few days…very lost in my thoughts and feelings… Thinking back to last year at this time has been tough and gut-wrenching. Soul searing, even. 

The inside of cancer is dreadfully dark. 

Living Changed Head to Toe – Day 3 :: 12/3/19 :: Post 812

I truly believe that there is so much that we as humans take for granted. Not because we are bad people or inconsiderate and selfish, but because it is just so easy to take for granted what works…especially when we don’t have to think about how things work or spend any amount of energy making sure things work. It’s why the cliché ‘you don’t know what you have until you lose it’ exists. 

But losing something is not the only way to a wake-up call…

Living changed from head to toe, Day 3 – my eyes and what they see… I haven’t lost my eyesight but cancer has shown me the many ways that I took for granted the power that lies in vision. I remember some of 6^th grade science class and how the eyes work…that they actually see the image upside down and then the brain turns it right side up; and how the eyes work together and how if one eye isn’t carrying its own weight, the brain helps the other eye compensate…absolutely BRILLIANT design, God. Really. But my eyes have to see really difficult things. I have looked down to see nothing where body parts once were. I have to look into the eyes of my husband who, too, misses our marriage from before cancer. I have to look at my reflection in the mirror…the baldness, the gray, sickly complexion, the scars, the bruises, the weariness in the very eyes that are seeing the devastation of cancer. I have had to look my plastic surgeon in the eyes after he has assessed my naked, chubby body, determining where I have the best fat to use in order to replace what cancer stole from me. I have had to look my oncologist in her eyes as she prescribes life-saving poison and the nurses, too, who administer it. I’ve had to look my mom and dad in their eyes as they watch their daughter fight for her life. My kids, too. And I’ve seen tears fall from those same eyes. I’ve seen the inside of more operating rooms than I’d like to admit. I’ve seen the blackness that comes as the anesthesia takes over my consciousness. I see heavy words fill hundreds of pages that document the most treacherous storm of my life.
My eyes have seen so much. 

And as each of those experiences are imprinted in my brain because of what I have literally seen, I have also learned how to see beyond the literal. I look at my kids differently. I look at them as if it will be the last time. I look at my husband and my mom and my dad and my family and my friends the same. I take in the view of the mountains with snow dusted across their peaks like I’ve never seen that view before. Or the bright yellow of the Colorado aspens in the crisp fall air. Or the flowers that bloom in bright colors. I sear into memory all that my eyes take in because to live fully is to fully take it all in. ALL of it. Not taking a moment of it for granted. Yes, in a moment it could be all gone. But even deeper than that, being committed to fully taking it all in means that I am remaining as present as possible with the present moment. Looking for details, paying attention to the instant and seeing what is right in front of me instead of living too far out ahead of myself. Living changed means that I am committed to seeing deeply so that I don’t miss what the ‘now’ is sharing with me.