Happy Anniversary!  The two year anniversary of my breast cancer surgery has arrived.  Actually, I’m looking at it in my rear view mirror now.

Initially I wondered: Should the anniversary be the date I found the lump, the date of my ultrasound that aroused  my suspicions, or the date of the phone call that confirmed my worst nightmare?  I decided not to go with any of those dates.  Honestly, that period of my life is a blur- a hazy cloud  of appointments, tests, and anxious thoughts.

So I chose the date of my surgery: July 3, 2013. A couple who came to the hospital to visit me the day after my surgery brought a plant with a tiny American flag embedded in its soil.  I still remember their words, “To celebrate your first day of being cancer-free.”  I would like to tell you that I smiled at my friends and embraced their sentiments.  Instead, I cried- a steady silent cascade of water flowing down my cheeks.  All I could think about was the loss of my breasts, the endless wait for the final pathology report, and that word, “CANCER.”

Twenty-four months, two years, 730 days have passed. I choose my foods more carefully, exercise more frequently, and live and love in the moment more extravagantly.  I show up for each blood draw, every chest x-ray, and all my follow-up appointments with “The Queen Bee.” At first, I felt like I was suspended in mid-air: waiting…  Waiting for bad news, waiting for words I didn’t want to hear, waiting for the proverbial “other shoe to drop.”

I am done waiting.  I don’t want to be “one of those people.”  A person who cannot fully live in the NOW because she’s living somewhere out in the nefarious land of “WHAT IFs…”

So, this girl is lacing both shoes up, pushing forward, and celebrating. July 3, 2013 has become my personal Independence Day.  A day of Freedom- freedom from breast cancer, freedom from living in fight or flight mode, freedom to make good things happen. And that “other shoe” lives securely in my closet with its twin.  Her name is…”Today.”

Galatians 5:1  :  “It is for Freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.”

April and May have come and gone. I have turned the calendar page to June.  Spring was but a brief dance as we await the slow, warm interlude of summer. It’s funny how sometimes things happen that are so precious, so important that we think the world must stop spinning.  Everyone should stand still and linger over the notes of what has happened.  Yet, the symphony keeps playing, the minutes tick by, the calendar pages turn, and we want to shout: “Wait!  Something beautiful yet devastating has happened!  Grocery lists and errands must cease.  Just sit with me in this sacred space. Please.”

I have a friend.  I had a friend.  No, I have a friend.  She has been a part of my life for 22 and a half years.  That’s almost as long as my youngest child has lived. My friend was kind, loving, funny, opinionated, and strong. She created beautiful dresses for my daughter and baked cookies from scratch that should have been marketed internationally.  I’m certain those cookies could have brought about world peace simply on their own delectable merits.

My friend loved God.  My friend loves God. She prayed for me, my kids, and she always thought of others’ needs before her own.  She was a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend.

My friend was a fighter. My friend is a fighter. She sparred with cancer for nearly 18 years, and then somehow in the midst of her battle she made friends with her illness. She learned how to uncover Joy amidst the ruins of chemotherapy and Hope in the catacombs of radiation.

My friend was a thinker- a planner.  My friend is a thinker- a planner.  She harnessed her energy to find ways to leave pieces of herself behind for those who loved her.  E-mails, hand-written notes and cards, encouraging voice-mails, incredible hand-made quilts for grandbabies she might never hold.

My friend was a Jesus-follower. My friend is a Jesus-follower. She worshiped with a passion, a deep devotion that is uncommon- extraordinary. My friend never hesitated to use her story to point others to Jesus. She used her life, her circumstance to give God Glory.

I uncovered this e-mail treasure from her the other day. She sent it to me the summer of my breast cancer surgery.  I was stuck.  Stuck in a pit of sadness. She knew I was stuck and sent me a lifeline:

“Here’s a song for us to learn:

Hallelujah, Anyhow…

Never, Never let your problems get you down.

When life’s problems come your way,

Hold your head up high and say,

Hallelujah, Anyhow!”

My friend died. My friend passed. My friend lives. The world may not stop spinning.  We will still run our errands, balance our checkbooks, and hit the snooze button on our alarm clocks. But, deep in my spirit I know that an incredibly beautiful, devastating event took place.  My world shifted and my friend exited this temporal moment and entered the bliss of Eternity with Her Creator, Her Savior.

Yes, “Hallelujah, Anyhow…”

First the diagnosis, then the treatment plan, then the execution of said plan… But what happens when the treatment plan is finished and you enter the gray zone of maintenance.  What then?  Just like a fledgling athletic team needs a support structure, a core of passionate individuals who possess unique gifts and wisdom- you as a breast cancer thriver- need a team of people you can draw both strength and expertise from. Your team consists of several layers which when the layers are peeled back, you find that these layers are not linear- they connect to one another in vibrant, beautiful circles. The first layer is your spouse or significant person.  For me, that person was and is my best friend- my husband Bob.  This person will listen to you describe the minute details of your diet, the side effects of your medication, and your mental state without ever rolling his eyes or sighing in your presence.  Another vital person in this layer is a friend- someone you can tell your darkest thoughts to and they listen and never, ever judge.  They do not feel the need to speak- they listen, listen, and listen some more.  The next addition is a kindred spirit- someone who has walked this path before you.  They don’t sugarcoat any information and are neither startled nor embarrassed by anything you ask them. Your next concentric circle is your medical team.  The staff at your oncologist’s office- the receptionists, the nurse practitioner, and the doctor or “Queen Bee” herself, in my case.  These souls will take your phone calls, order blood work and tests, and make appointments so that you can hear the Queen Bee say, “That is a lymph node- not a tumor,” “Your blood work looks good,” “We can do an ultrasound to keep an eye on that,” and the ever welcome, “You are doing it!” Under this layer is your wellness team.  Your Pilates instructor, the boy at the gym who scans your ID card when you arrive to work out, the massage therapist, and anyone who will exercise with you and push you further than you imagined you could go. Connecting all the layers and circles is your Spirituality- your belief in a higher power, Karma, the Creator of the Universe- or whatever easy chair you choose to sink the weight of your life into.  For me, it is my faith in Jesus Christ and the knowledge that this- all of this- is temporary.  When I step out of this point in time into Eternity, I will no longer care if I ate 100% organic, exercised at least 5 days a week, or buoyed my spirit with only positive, light-filled thoughts.  In Eternity, my scars will be gone, my implants a non-issue, and my body completely restored.  Breast cancer will have evolved into the role of teacher- an instructor who offered life lessons that pushed me to question more, grow stronger, and love more deeply than I ever thought possible. But for now- in this point in Time- I can feel the spring breeze on my face, the warm sun on my skin, and the undeniable peace in my soul.  The grand sense of peace that I am feeling more confident, less fragmented, and surprisingly comfortable in my own skin again.  And that is a very, very good thing…

Labels…. they’re everywhere-  in the grocery store aisle, on the tag inside our favorite shirt, wrapped around that medicine bottle on our nightstand, and deep within our spirit.

So many labels that tell me who I am…  Wife, Mother, Daughter, Sister, Dog-Mama, Teacher, Friend.  Now I have a new label: Breast Cancer Survivor.  To be painfully honest, sometimes I want to rip that label off and hide it in a drawer somewhere.  My mind says that if I take the label off, perhaps this never happened.  But I have only to look in the mirror to know the label will not stay hidden in my drawer.  My scars tell me quite clearly where I’ve been.  But, they also tell me where I’m going.  I am going on.

I had my six-month check up with Dr. Brenda this week.  I received a good report, picked up my vitamin supplements, scheduled my next appointment, and got a refill on my Tamoxifen.  Bob and I celebrated our good news and I felt joyful.

A few days later I clicked on a newsletter filled with breast cancer research and I read and I read and I read.  I read about tamoxifen resistance, clinical studies, and gray statistics.  I clicked on article after article until I had spiraled down into the abyss of cancer knowledge overload.  I let myself wallow in the mud and mire there.  I felt stuck.  This is what my friend Lynn and I had worked so hard to deliver me from- the pit of negative thinking.

The voice inside my head berated me, chided me, scolded me for reading article after article and allowing my joy to be sucked down the internet research hole.

I was so disappointed in myself that I put on yet another label- negative thinker.  I went to my Pilates lesson with my spirit feeling choked- as if it would take great effort to exhale.  I was lying on the machine when Christina asked how I was feeling.  My eyes were closed and I could feel a little liquid behind my closed eyelids.  I did not want that water to escape.  I did not want to cry since I wasn’t quite sure what I would be crying about. I answered that I was feeling stressed.  Christina has a great voice and an even greater laugh.  She stood next to me and said,

“Breathe in and breathe out.  It’s going to be okay.”

It’s going to be okay.  Simple words that struck such a profound chord in my soul.  It is going to be okay.  I realized that I could rip the label – negative thinker- off.  It’s okay that I slid down into the mud momentarily- I wasn’t going to stay there.

I wasn’t going to stay there because I wear another label.  That label is “Beloved.”  I am a beloved child of God.  He is not angry or distant with me because I strayed from feeling joyful.  Instead, He scoops me up and just holds me in His Arms.  He laughs with me and cries with me.  He touches my scars lovingly and reminds me who I am- His beloved daughter.

I look at the word “beloved” a little closer and break it apart: be loved.  We all need to take these words and let them soak into our hearts, our souls, our spirits. Just be loved.  So the next time I feel my feet slip and start to slide down that muddy embankment, I will remember who I am…  I am beloved.

Calendars…  There is something magically delightful about new calendars, day planners, and datebooks.  Each empty page awaits new plans, ideas, challenges, and opportunities.  Looking back over the last year, my day planner tells a tale of milestones…

My last appointment with the plastic surgeon after my revision surgery.  I really grew to love that woman.  She would open the door to my exam room looking beautiful, hopeful, and interested.  Interested in not only how I was healing physically but emotionally too. As I thanked her at our last appointment, she smiled and said what an honor it had been getting to know me and my husband. Before she left the room, she turned to me and said, “Someday we’ll party together in Heaven and you will be a size Double D.”  She always made me smile, and I seemed to feel stronger when I left her office.

A year of blood tests with amazingly boring, normal results.  A year of visits with my surgeon, Dr. Brenda, and her staff. They became my friends- although we could have become confidantes in a much less painful way.

The year anniversary of my diagnosis and my surgery.  That date felt empowering and unbelievably peaceful.  The date of my chest x-ray- no more mammograms for me!  Hearing Suzanne, Dr. Brenda’s nurse practitioner, pronounce the x-ray to be “clean” is a date to circle.

A year of Pilates classes and therapeutic massages that soothed my muscles and my mind.  A year of talks with Lynn as I sorted through everything that happened. A year of swallowing 20 mg of Tamoxifen every day with lunch. The first pill taken with trepidation as I researched all that might go wrong because of this small, round medication.  A year later, it is taken almost without a second thought.

And now the last day of 2014…  I am preparing to put my 2014 datebook away.  My 2015 planner is smaller, more colorful, and deliciously empty of appointments.  This year is the beginning of my second year of being cancer-free, anxiety-free, regret-free.

May it be a year of loving extravagantly, forgiving lavishly, and living joyfully…

Happy New Year!!!

I do not believe in coincidence.  However, I do not believe that all events are messages from God- pumping gas, doing laundry, shopping for groceries are mundane happenings that I don’t necessarily view as divine appointments.    But, I do believe that God orchestrates interactions between people.  And last night, I experienced one of those divine interactions- what I like to call a “God-wink.”

The day started out in the most ordinary way.  I went to work, negotiated traffic on my way home, unloaded the dishwasher, and jumped on the treadmill to get some exercise in.  Thursday night is our women’s Bible Study night so I ate a quick bite and left for church.

After our study, my co-leader and I headed for Tim Horton’s.  We had planned to trade ideas for our next Bible Study.  We settled into our booth with coffee and hot chocolate, armed with pen and notebook to “plan” what God wanted  us to study.  It started as noise in the periphery.  It grew in intensity.  I turned around and we were greeted by a man.  He was sitting alone in a tattered jacket with a Tim Horton’s drink in front of him.  He smiled and loudly began to converse with us.  After a few minutes, he came over to our booth and sat next to us.

We learned many things from this stranger.  His name was Mike.  He had been in a terrible automobile accident, suffering  an injury to his eyes and his brain.  He had been in a coma, attacked by someone with a hatchet, and had lost his wife and daughters through a less than amicable divorce.  His father passed away last August and he had worked in his father’s plumbing business.

Mike loves Paul Newman- his all time favorite movie is “Cool Hand Luke.” Mike loves Jesus and believes that unless you are born again, you cannot have the Holy Spirit inside you.  His speech is garbled and his hearing in his left ear is virtually non-existent. People are usually mean to him.  Mike thinks we are very nice ladies.  He asks what our names are, how long we have been married, how many children we each have, and do we have “good lives?”

When our encounter with Mike began, I found myself staring at the clock behind his head.  My Bible Study co-leader and I had been sitting here for 30 minutes.  I had to go to work tomorrow and we hadn’t even begun to look at our Bible Study options.

As I peered into Mike’s face and gazed into his eyes which seemed to literally dance with life, something in my heart shifted.  In my spirit I wondered if God was using our interaction with Mike to whisper to me:

“You are in such a hurry to plan a Bible Study and I’m sitting here- right in front of you. Do you believe all those things you’ve been reading in My Word?  Do you see Mike- really see him?”

I stopped staring at the clock and listened. I watched Mike’s hands, the way he waved them about wildly as he spoke.  I wondered where he lived- if anyone was expecting him to come home later tonight.  I pondered if the scar on his forehead was indeed courtesy of a “hatchet attack” or some other injury.  I marveled at the events that may have taken place in his life, and the odds of Mike sitting down next to two Bible Study girls from suburbia.

My co-leader and I reached for our coats.  We had been sitting with Mike for well over an hour.  Several times he had bid us goodbye, told us how nice we were to him, and offered us the “Cool Hand Luke” handshake.  I have to confess that every single time he started to leave, I managed to omit part of the handshake. Mike found my omission extremely amusing.  Before we left, Mike asked if we would pray for him.  “Sure, we’ll pray for you,” we answered.  “Right now?” Mike responded.  My co-leader and I looked at one another.  “Yes, right now,” we replied. Mike thanked us for praying for him and this time we said goodbye.  As I drove home, I pondered what had just happened.  I tried to explain the evening’s events to my husband.  My words didn’t do our encounter with Mike justice.

Today I find thoughts of Mike invading my space, my senses, my mind.  Our God smiles- He knows ‘Cool Hand Luke,’ and he wants me to know him too…

As you recover from breast cancer treatment you find yourself questioning just about everything.  Your decision-making, your motives, your beliefs, your loved ones, your doctor’s recommendations- everything comes under the microscope of your thoughts. Sometimes the microscope’s lens is fuzzy; other times the image is crystal clear.

One crisp fall morning my new friend asked me a question.  The question was simple yet so complicated.  The question was pointed yet subtly gentle.  This question seemed like a cliche’ yet also stopped me in my tracks with its intensity.

She looked into my face and asked, “Do you trust God?  Do you believe that no matter how this turns out, no matter what happens, He’s got your back?”  I looked at my friend.  I started to speak, stuttered a little, and then fell silent.

I put this big question on the shelf of my mind for a while.  I didn’t want to look at it. I was afraid to answer.  I knew God loved me. I knew He didn’t give me breast cancer but He did allow it. I knew He had a plan for my life.  But did I trust Him? Did I believe with every fiber of my being that He had my back?

As the pages of my calendar turned, I took the question off the shelf.  Dusting it off, I examined all the angles and planes.  Smooth angles, rough edges, whispered conversations with my God.  It has been a journey- a journey that really doesn’t have a final destination.

Every day I make a conscious choice.  A choice to say, “Yes, I do trust my God. I know deep in my soul that no matter what happens in life, He has my back. He will never overlook me.  He will never dismiss my thoughts.  He will never become angry with my doubts. He will never abandon me.”

His Hand will never let go of mine.  He is always with me. He protects me. He listens to me. He can take every doubt, every anxious thought, every hard moment and transform my question mark into something strong and beautiful- an exclamation point.