And the theme of March will be grace. Grace upon grace.
grace [ greys ]
noun.
Beauty of form; favor or goodwill; freely given and undeserved favor
Tonight I am preparing for sharing my story tomorrow at a women’s event. I’ve decided to share about Courageous Grace as it relates to my story. If I look at the span of my life, grace would be “my one word.” I’m so grateful to get the opportunity to spend time with other women sharing my heart and hearing what they have to share from theirs about
why grace,
why courage and
why courageous grace.
But, I gotta get back to it, so more on this tomorrow. What about you? Why grace? Why courage? And what about grace is courageous?
*Post 1066
Deeper. Different. Radical. :: 3/3/18 :: Post 180
I’m tired. I say that a lot and it makes me sad that I say that a lot. But I’m tired.
That said, I’m in pretty good spirits. While I’m weary of the battle and everyday is hard, I have such a new appreciation for things that I so easily took for granted.
I went on a breakfast date to Cracker Barrel with Chris this morning. And then we walked around Cabela’s for an hour. And then we went to Home Depot together. Talking about whatever comes to mind. Laughing. Walking around listening to my sweet husband talk about fishing and kayaking and fish finders and tackle and boat repairs. Talking about our kids and how proud we are of them or about how challenging parenting can be sometimes.
Doing life…..
And while I have always loved winter, there is something about this spring-like weather that has breathed life into my spirit. The birds chirping. Not having to wear a jacket. The sun shining.
It’s such an interesting place… I hate cancer and all that it has done to me and those close to me. It’s ravaging my body. It’s breaking my heart. It’s taking my spirit to some pretty dark places. Yet I sit here this morning feeling lighter. Feeling free-er. Feeling refreshed. Feeling stronger. Feeling more deeply grateful.
Maybe that’s what it is….. in all the devastation of cancer, I’m given the gift of feeling deeper. Things matter differently. God’s presence is radical.
Day 3 :: 3/3/19 :: Post 537
Day 3. Oh Day 3 how you torture me.
I have NO idea how to feel. I can’t tell if I’m just numb and saying “eh, %&#$ it…I don’t care anymore.” Or if I’m sad. Or if I’m disappointed. Or if I’m shaming myself for not being more accepting.
I looked down today. And I looked cancer in the eye once again as I studied my scarred form in the mirror. I will acknowledge that it does look better. There is improved evenness where it wasn’t before. And for that, I’m grateful. It’s not perfect, but it is better.
That said, it continues to only look good under clothes. And even then, I notice an unevenness that I am forced to accept. I mean, come on, we are out of options….and how in the heck do I go back to my surgeon and say, “yeah, so um, can you try again?”
I think that is what I’m wrestling with tonight….forced acceptance. Whether I like it or not, this is what it is going to be (even if we do one more revision). And I’m at a point where I am in conflict with myself because it should be good enough. *Should being the operative word… And who am I to complain? How selfish of me to complain. How selfish of me to be disappointed. How selfish of me to be unaccepting after all of the effort that has been put in…by my surgeon, my family, my employer, me…
That’s what makes today so hard. I’m so confused with how to feel – very real gratitude and very real sadness mixed in with some reluctant acceptance and frustrated bitterness all while also feeling deep compassion for my body as it has fought this dreadful monster with me. And…throw in some extreme nausea. What a mess.
Day 3…oh Day 3.
Joy’s Companion :: 3/3/20 :: Post 850
Today, grief has looked like bitter anger. I woke up slightly off and then it just got more and more emotionally difficult. Tears welled up in my eyes as I showered, hating how I was reminded that a large majority of my body has little-to-no feeling, disgusted by the feeling of fat transplanted from my belly to my chest area…still trying to figure out what to call ‘them,’ and frustrated that the at-one-time-simple task of shaving isn’t so simple and causes such join pain. Post-shower, as I got ready, I became so easily annoyed at my chemo-altered hair, I struggled to put mascara on my weak and thin eyelashes as my eyes watered non-stop all while having to take many breaks from putting myself together as hot-flash-after-hot-flash flared up causing the most uncomfortable full-body sweat, rendering it almost impossible and useless to try and put makeup on anyways.
Ugh. It was only 7am.
As I started my work day, my stomach was hurting and my body ached. My soul, tired. My heart weary. And the reminder running through my head that ‘cancer treatment may not be the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do…’
Nope. Treatment was hard. This is hard, too. It was only 10am.
I stepped into a meeting and felt insecurity creep up my spine… ‘how can I find a way to weave in who I used to be?’…clinging to any semblance of the ‘who’ I was before the ugly of cancer tore through my life. Not because I’m not grateful for the transformation cancer has provided, but I think I was subconsciously nostalgic for a life that didn’t hold as much pain in the gratitude.
The tensions are real. And intense. It was only noon.
As I sit here tonight, writing this out, I feel foolish. Frustrated with myself that I let my bitterness overtake my joy today. And at the same time of writing that, realizing that joy, now, comes with with a forever-companion of accepted pain…both physical and emotional.
Reaching for my water, my shoulder screams out in pain. Hot flash #37 rages on. Eyes blurry from dryness and fatigue and a bloody nose wraps up my day. Thank God it’s bedtime and His mercies are new every morning.