It’s October. Everywhere you look, you see pink. Pink ribbons, pink wigs, pink t-shirts, and pink logos for every product under the sun: pizza (Yes, I said pizza!), earrings, purses, yoga pants- you name it- it comes in pink. You will hear interviews, songs, and segments on your favorite talk show that focus on pink. This sea of pink signals it’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month. The songs are appropriately catchy and play on your emotions just right. The yoga pants are comfy and who doesn’t enjoy pizza from their favorite shop when it’s packaged in a pink cardboard box??!!

But pink…it’s not what you think. Pink is celebrating another cancer-free year on the calendar. Pink is finishing another bottle of Tamoxifen and wondering if you’re doing the right thing. Pink is stopping the regimen of Tamoxifen and wondering if you’re doing the right thing. Pink is waiting in the lab for blood work that measures tumor markers. Pink is the yearly chest x-ray and chatting with the technician about the importance of early detection. Pink is looking at life through a different lens. You laugh more easily. You cry more easily. Sometimes that chocolate tastes unbelievably delicious and sometimes your ears perk up when the nightly news announces the newest research study.

But pink.. it’s not what you think. Pink is feeling incredibly blessed to enjoy the summer sun and hold your husband’s hand. Pink is looking in the mirror at scars that used to make you cry but now… not so much. Pink is trying new things because…why not?! Pink is recognizing the margins in your life and getting rid of things that do not deliver joy. Pink is thinking of your oncologist as your super-hero… able to leap MRI’s in a single bound and tell you exactly what you should or should not eat.

But pink…it’s not what you think. It’s not a research fund, a 5K walk or run, or even your favorite athletic team donning pink sneakers. Pink is knowing in the depths of your soul that life is short, that everyone dies from something someday, and that our God is oh so merciful and kind. Pink… it’s not what you think. Pink is not a color.

Sometimes there comes a moment when you just have to acknowledge the deep hurt you feel inside. You need to take it out, look it over from all angles, and then release it. If you hold on to the pain too long, it will creep inside your spirit and take up residence in your bones. The bitterness will slowly fester and begin to color your every movement. Your breath will become shallow and your heart will ache. When all the moments collide and you just cannot live in the old, destructive patterns any longer, you put the hurt down. You leave it carefully behind you and you move forward. You reach up and Jesus takes your hand and pulls you out of that messy pit. He brushes off your skinned knees, touches your cheek so tenderly, and just holds you close in His arms. That’s when you know you really will be alright. You will be okay. But you will never be the same. Your heart is forever changed and a piece will always remain broken on this side of Eternity.

Letting go and moving forward is not for the faint of heart. You must reach down inside your soul and with determination, boldness, and just plain guts- you must push through and not look back. If you swerve, if you veer to the left or the right, you will continue to engage with the hurt. When you bump into the pain, it will take you by surprise and knock the wind out of your lungs.  If this happens, look yourself in the eye and stand a little taller. Lean in close and remind yourself of the brevity and the beauty of this life. And then reflect on the temporary burden of pain, loss, loneliness, anger. Open your closed hand slowly, inhale deeply, and take a step forward. Hold on to Jesus’ hand and the hearts of those who love you well. Let go. Let go of Fear, Sadness, Anger, Pain. Release those who do not love you well, wish them good fortune, but close the door firmly and do not look back. This is when you know you are beginning- again.

Time can be measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, and years.  We note the passage of time as we gaze in the mirror at our laugh lines and our crow’s feet. There is also a movement – a quickening- in our spirit, our heart, our soul. Sometimes the movement is nothing more than a slight shift in our energy; other times it is a breaking free, a shattering of a stronghold that is almost seismic in its proportions.

When the movement is intense, it is nothing short of a floodgate opening.  Google defines a floodgate as: a last restraint holding back an outpouring of something powerful or substantial.  It has been four years since my breast cancer diagnosis and the floodgate has finally opened.  Four years… 208 weeks.  1,460 days.  35,040 hours. 2,102,400 minutes.  126,144,000 seconds.

A closer inspection of the floodgate brings a sense of calm and peace.  Everything is different now.  Moments slow down. The people I love stir my heart faster. My breath seems slower, more relaxed.  Joy covers my thought life more completely and Fear has to stand in the back of the room- away from my Todays.  Jesus beckons me to look a bit closer. I smile as I take in the outpouring of “my something powerful and substantial.”  It is Him. My God gives me confidence when my steps are shaky.  He takes my hand, turns me in the right direction, and nudges me forward. My heart feels the connection and is in awe of the transformation. I skip ahead, hoping to gather all the sweet moments together and savor them. This season feels…. new. It feels good and exciting and unbelievable all at once.

“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy.”    Psalm 103: 2 – 4

Margins… those beautiful white spaces at the edge of a crisp new piece of notebook paper. When I was in elementary school this space was reserved for comments by a teacher- sometimes in blue and others times in fire engine red. When taking notes in high school, these sacred spaces became prime territory for daydreams and doodles. Writing papers in college English classes, these subtle spaces became depositories for quotes, references, and footnote protocol.

In my 50’s, margin is so much more. It’s the space I leave in my life for random events, people, or places. It has taken almost 2 1/2 decades to learn how to leave the margin free.  I am still learning.  Lately I have found myself filling up the margin of my life with Busy. Good busy- but Busy all the same. I fill up my datebook hoping that the void I am feeling in my life will also be shored up. I wonder at the same time if Busy looks so inviting because it enables me to push my dreams and desires to the back of the shelf.  If Busy lives in my margin, there is no time to write or to simply sit with Jesus and be still. If my margin is filled with people pleasing and to-do lists that can never really be “checked off, ” then there is no need to take a risk and try something NEW.  If Busy takes permanent residence in my margin, I don’t have time to look in the mirror and wonder, “Who is this woman looking back at me?”

So here’s to Margin… to leaving some space to breathe- not quick, shallow breaths- but deep intentional breaths. Leaving a space in the schedule, the checkbook, and in my heart. I need to take a closer look at the woman in the mirror. I need to take a risk, jump into a messy puddle, roll my car window down. Because sometimes the very best surprises are found in the margins.

“My parents, and librarians along the way, taught me about the space between words; about the Margins, where so many juicy moments of life and spirit and friendship could be found. In a library, you could find miracles and truth and you might find something that would make you laugh so hard that you get shushed, in the friendliest way.”

– Anne Lamott

Upended…  “to turn or set something on its end or upside down.”  Driving through the outskirts of Canton, Texas for an Uncle’s 80th Surprise Birthday Party, (Did I mention he threw the party for himself because he was surprised he made it to 80?!) we saw roots, trees, metal, and parts of houses strewn about as a testament to the tornado that ripped through the area the weekend before. My husband and I were amazed and dumbfounded at what we saw. Next to a house with a collapsed roof and an overturned car, sat a house completely unaffected. This house and the surrounding yard appeared completely unscathed- not a branch in the green grass – and a car waiting patiently to run errands for the family inside.

I couldn’t help but think of the seasons of our lives after looking at these two homes. Some seasons we almost sail through and wonder if all the Joy can possibly be contained within the parentheses of our days. Our lives are like the house that while a tornado rages around its foundation, we stand unmoved by the calamity and chaos all around us. Yes, we have sympathy for those who are going through those rocky seasons. We stare at their overturned cars, the metal sheets of their lives, the collapsed roofs of their hopes and dreams. We need to look away because deep within our bones, we know that our season of standing erect without any signs of wear can come to an abrupt halt at any moment.

Other seasons of our lives leave us ‘upended.’   Transitions, tragedies, health crises, questions and doubts in our faith journey tear at the roots of our lives and leave us turned on our end or even upside down. From that vantage point, our sympathy for others dies and empathy is birthed. Empathy looks at that neighbor’s life and remembers her own topsy-turvy season and the force of the wind as it blew through her life. Empathy comes alongside and never looks away- it looks straight into the eyes of the hurting one and remembers the raw pain and confusion. Empathy reaches out and helps turn the pieces of the broken one’s life over, setting them erect and helping them plant once again.

As we exited the small town next to Canton, Texas we ran into Empathy. A crew of people gathered at one house, working together- picking through the pieces of the lives that had been upended there. This is what Christ calls each of us to.  We are not meant to waste a minute of our ‘upended’ season. He calls us to take the remembrance of that storm, wrap it in newborn Empathy, and share His constant, unfailing Love. He gives each of us- whether we are standing erect for the moment or ‘upended’ on our side, a firm place to stand.

Psalm 40: 1 -3

“I waited patiently for the LORD; He turned to me and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire.

He set my feet on a rock, and gave me a firm place to stand.”

It had to be done. The door beckoned me but I really didn’t want to descend those steps. Into the basement I went to begin the arduous task of creating three piles: 1. Throw Away   2. Save   3. Ponder “Throw Away or Save.”

Large envelopes and boxes of preschool art, early elementary days, grade cards, notes, and photos. Oh, lots and lots of photos. I steel my heart strings and feel productive as my Throw Away pile magically grows larger and larger. I look at the head and foot boards for our boys’ bunk beds, touching the wood and marveling at how old the matching dressers appear. It hardly seems possible that so much time has passed, and yet it sometimes seems as if our three children were bouncing through our front door a lifetime ago.

As I move a box over to the side, I see it. Black marker on the basement floor. Written in elementary age printing: “Rob and Michael was here.” With a little lightsaber etched next to the sentence that doesn’t really care about grammar quite yet. My eyes mist with a few happy tears as my soul whispers, “Yes, you were here. And Elizabeth was here. You were here and each of you left an indelible mark on my heart.”  Ours certainly was not a perfect home and I was not a perfect mother. But I know I loved deeply- so deeply that now as I stare at this small snapshot on my basement floor, my heart aches. Aches and smiles at the remembrance of a beautiful, difficult, incredible, tiring season of life.

I move to yet another corner of the basement and find some old senior picture snapshots, wallet size.  The girls’ hairstyles are big- the side curls waving at me, Farrah Fawcett-like.  I turn them over and they are written to my now husband. I read with a grin how he tutored various female friends in Physics and Chemistry. The comments of what a “nice guy he is” and someone of strong character. I marvel that there is a season of his life that I am not a part of. It makes me feel wistful that I will never know all of him completely. But, can anyone?

Enough sorting for the day, I ascend the steps and notice a pair of mourning doves on our back deck. They sit side by side in the warmth of the afternoon sun. They seem perfectly content to bask in the silence yet their stillness communicates so much. After several minutes the larger of the two flies off into our neighbor’s yard. The remaining partner looks about and then eagerly follows. I get busy with some kitchen chores and happen to glance out the window much later. They are back, sitting side by side. Returning and Remembering.

I go upstairs to put a mound of laundry away and look at our bed. It’s all made up and almost looks as if no one has slept there. No one has laughed there, cried there, uttered hurtful words there, or made beautiful love there. I look closer- focusing a snapshot in my mind.

The surgeries are done, my exterior healing complete. It’s mid-day and we’ve been taking care of weekend chores for hours. A Saturday of “to- dos” that need to be completed and checked off, only to be replaced by dozens more. He calls me to come upstairs. I need to “take a look at something.” I grumble to myself as I begrudgingly climb the stairs, wondering to myself what can possibly be broken, soiled, or misplaced now. And there he is- in our bed. He looks me in the eye and pats the covers that are tucked all around him. “Come here.” As long as I live, I will always remember the love and joy on his face, and the undeniable feeling of being so unconditionally loved in that moment.

Returning and Remembering.  Returning and Remembering all that God has done with all the tiny seconds of our lives that weave beautifully into a story crafted just for Him. I am grateful.

Psalm 143:5

“I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the work of your hands.”  (ESV)

You can learn a lot about a woman by the way she stands. As an infant, she rests peacefully or not so peacefully on her back or tum. Before you know it, she’s a toddler walking or running at high speed. If you’re lucky, she’ll pause and glance back at you with a coy grin. The preschool years arrive and you may notice she stands with confidence, just daring Life to throw her a curve ball. Then something happens…

That yellow transporter departs at the end of her street and whisks her away to the mysterious world of primary school.  She’s still standing tall but with close inspection you notice a slight bend, a barely visible slump of the shoulders. The years fly by: college, marriage, career, motherhood….  She’s still standing but there’s a weariness there- a little less bounce and a slight limp to her gait.

Children are released into the world and her career takes a new path with the destination unknown. Seasons of marriage evolve and bring Joy as never before. Her shoulders rise a little with each new adventure. Challenges come. People she loves die. Doctors appointments don’t go exactly as she scripts them in her head. But she’s still standing. It occurs to her that she can do more than merely stand. She can pull herself up tall and encourage her body to take up space. Her body, mind, and spirit can take up every inch of space that God has designed for her.

Yes, you can learn a lot about a woman by the way she stands. She glances back in the mirror with a confident grin- just daring Life to throw her a curve ball. This time she’s taking up all her space and it feels good.

Contentment. It fits around the spirit like a well-worn glove, enveloping the heart and slowing down one’s thoughts. A cup of hot tea, a soft recliner with a good book, the snuggles of canine family members- they all add a layer or two of happiness.   According to Wikipedia, contentment is “a mental or emotional state of satisfaction maybe drawn from being at ease in one’s situation, body and mind.” As 2016 draws to a close and we look fresh in the face of 2017, it is a time of reflection, of letting go, and moving forward. My 2016 was a season of restlessness- a feeling that something was not quite right. There’s something about the fifth decade of life that causes you to peer inside the closet of your heart, and begin to clean it out.   Simplifying, organizing, breathing. When you’re in the middle of this process, the spirit is anxious, wondering what comes next. Will the new season be a canvas of vibrant colors or a dry, grey etching? Here is what I am sure of as this new season called 2017 greets me:

1. I can try something new and it might work out. Or it might not. And it will be okay- I will be okay- either way.
2. Being comfortable in my own skin is a gift. Some of us unwrap it sooner than others, but it is a gift all the same.
3. Being present in the moment with my people takes practice, but it is so worth it.
4. Putting a period at the end of seasons of your life is not necessary; try a comma instead.
5. Being a woman in the fifth decade of life can be freeing, scary, and exciting all at the same time.
6. Dogs are always kinder than people and will never judge you.
7. Some of the greatest lessons come from enduring hard times, and endurance produces beauty.
8. I just don’t care what “they” think anymore- whoever “they” may be.
9. Sometimes it is best to hold words inside and release them later to our Heavenly Father.
10. It’s okay to be afraid, but go ahead and jump anyway.

Sitting on the precipice of mid-life or actually three-quarters life (Is there such a term?), there are some things I wish my younger, less – ahem- mature self had known.

1. There is a difference between loving people and having the disease to please.
2. You are God’s precious daughter- and that is enough- more than enough.
3. There is no need to hide behind your hair- you have a friendly, open face- show it to the world.
4. Aim big- WAY BIG- if it doesn’t work out- you can always take a different route to where you want to go.
5. Speak up- don’t be afraid to ask questions.
6. Sometimes you just need a solid night of sleep and things will look  better tomorrow morning.
7. Seasons of Life are brief- don’t wish any of them away- they will fade soon enough.
8. Do not Worry your Prayers- strategically craft a Battle Plan- be a Prayer Warrior.
9. Do not put your health- physical or emotional- last on your priority list. You MATTER.
10. Poodles are a gift from God.  🙂