I Live Under a Cloud

  You know those anti-depression pill commercials? The ones were the cloud follows the person around where ever he or she goes? That is what it is like living after cancer.

  That cloud is the thought(s) of cancer. I have to take it with me everywhere I go, to school, to work, when I hang out with my friends. It doesn't directly interfere with what I am doing, but it makes some things much harder. I don't laugh as much as I used to. And when I do laugh, it is not for as long or as hard. And I cry more. A lot more.

  When I am alone I try my best not to think about it. But when I am with others I just can not help it. I keep asking myself why others seem so much more care free than me. Then I remember they don't have all the "what ifs" hanging at the back of their minds.

  I feel like cancer has stolen my innocence from me. That part of me that could laugh without feeling guilty about others dying.

  But cancer also gave me something. It gave me the great peace and joy for the things I have, for all those things I took for granted. I can't even get out of bed without remembering how I couldn't before. Every time I run up a set of stairs I remember what a struggle it was just to climb them eight months ago.

  I never asked to have cancer, but nobody ever asks for life to be hard. Nobody asks to be the hero, they just become one. Maybe the cloud will always be with me, or maybe one day I will look up and find it gone. I never don't want to care, I just want to enjoy my second chance. maybe the cloud is there to remind me that I have a second chance.

I Survived

  Being broken for me always means that I must be alone to cry.  I can't explain it, but that is how I best handle things that I just can not do anything else about.

  Such times came often when I was sick. I would cry because I was in pain. I would cry for the things I could no longer do. I would cry in frustration of the side effects of the chemo. When I became "better" I thought that would stop.

  I didn't.

  Now I find myself wallowing in tears, not for myself, but for others. For those who must also fight this monster called cancer. And for those who die fighting. I think, "It is not fair! Why do I get to live when so many others do not? What makes me so special?" And that is when I break.

  Someone once told me that your mission on earth is done when you die. If you are still alive, then your mission is not done. I am still here. What could God still want to do with me? What makes me so special that he keeps me here?

  I haven't answered that question yet, and so I continue to feel guilty. I know I shouldn't. I know they wouldn't want me to feel so sorry for them. I know they would want me to stand up and fight, for myself and for them. So I will. And yet I know, some days, I will break.

I am a Door

I am here, I live, I breathe.

Why am I here?

God put me here.

God always has a reason.

So why am I here?

What will my life do?

How can I serve my God?

What does he want of me?

Where will I go?

What can I do that will please him?

What could possibly be worth the time of my savior?

How can I serve him?

Nothing I do is enough.

I will never be enough.

So why am I even here?

What will I do?

God doesn't need enough.

He just needs someone.

Someone willing to move,

Willing to be a door.

I want to be a door for him.

I want the world to see him,

Through me.

I want to be the door for his love.

God, make me a door.

This is why I am here.

This is my purpose.

To be your love.

I Am Whole

  There are somethings I may never fully understand. Like why I had to be sick. Why I had to quite school. Why I had to endure such horrible pain and suffering just to "get better."  

  While I was sick, all I wanted was to get better, to be made well. I prayed everyday "Lord, make me well." I dreamed of the day my hair would grow back, the day I could go back to work and school.  And would wake up crying because they were just dreams.

  But it came to me, one night, in the deepest part of my depression. Did I have to be made "well" in order to be whole? I asked myself this because during these confusing dark times during my illness, I started to feel, well, strange.

  Strange how, you ask? Well, to start, I was feeling more peaceful in mind and body during my sickness than I had at anytime before. I didn't worry about the little things in life like I used to. I felt rested in spirit despite all those sleepless nights. I was, with no better way to describe it, at peace. With my life, with those around me, and even what was happening to me.

  The best part though, was the closeness I felt to God during those times. I would sing myself to sleep sometimes because I was in so much pain. And I knew with every word he was right there beside me: his presences was undeniable.  

  And so when I write that is it is possible to be made "whole" without being made well, do not scoff. It may seem like a contradiction (God loves doing that). But I have been there. I have been very, very broken.  And in the mist of my brokenness, God has made me whole.  

I am the Hero

  I really wish everyone could understand this. I do not want to belittle what is or was happing to someone, but what you do about it can really make a difference.
 
 Think about it. Most Heroes and Heroines in books and movies start out in a bad place. Look at Katness Everdeen growing up in the least desirable district 12. Look at Harry Potter. Parents dead and he is living under the stairs of a home he is neither welcome or loved in. Do they sit around crying about "poor me"? No. The first chance they have to change their lives comes by and they take it. And they don't spend the rest of their life claiming to be a victim and living off of other's charity because they think they deserve it.

  I have thought about this a lot in regards to my cancer. I could claim it has hurt me too much emotionally to carry on, that it has set me back too much to keep reaching for my goals. But the truth of the matter is I would much rather be the hero of this story, not the victim. I want to be that girl who faced the dragon (a.k.a. cancer) and lived to tell about it. Who fought instead of running and hiding.

 I want to have stories to tell my children so they will be fighters too. Little heroes and heroines in the own right. Until they grow up and face real dragons of their own. I won't be afraid for them then. Because I will know that even though they will face dragons, they will also have heard of brave knights who can defeat them.

Good Days and Big Dreams

I realized today that everyone has bad days and good days. Bad moments and good moments. We just don't always take the time to recognize a beautiful thing when we see it. More often than not it is the simple things: a sunset, a kind word, a smile from a friend, that really make a great moment.

And than I realized; if these simple things make life so wonderful, why don't I take more care in what I do and say?  My actions and words could build someone up or tear them down.  Lift of their dreams so they strive to achieve them or break them down so much they don't even try.

Scary, isn't it?  To know we each have that much power.  Over others. And over ourselves.  And what we choose to speak can make all the difference in the world.

While I wouldn't tell a three year old they could fly, I would inspire them to dream about it.  Maybe someday they will become a pilot.  And what about my peers?  They have dreams too.  The ones spoken in hushed tones late at night.  Everyone has a secret wish.

I remember very clearly, many years ago now it was, when my mother decided to speak hope to one of my dreams.
"I would like to write a book."  I told her.
"I think you would be good at that," she told me with a smile.

So I tried.  I wrote stories, poems, journal entries, and songs.  And than one day I wrote a novel.  It isn't published yet or anything, but I am working on it.

I often think back to that time my spoke hope to me.  That was the spark that started the fire in my soul. I probably wouldn't write at all if she hadn't encouraged me.

Yet here I am.  Writing has helped me sort out all my feelings.  And it helps me learn about who I really am.

Thanks Mom

All I want for Christmas is my hair

Today I reached up to my head and ran my fingers through my hair.  I know most people do this without a second thought.  I was one of those people last year.  After I learned I would loose it all to the chemo, I was given hopeful news.

I can still remember the words of my sweet nurse Kelly when she said, "The chemo will stop and you will have a cute, short cut by Christmas."  Those words were my lifeline.  In March, Christmas felt like a long way off.

I remember gazing jealously at the women in shampoo commercials with their beautiful, long locks.  Even my friends and my own family became objects of my envy.  "Why did I have to loose my hair?" I would think bitterly to myself.  "I loved mine more than all of them together."

And I really did love mine.  I loved braiding it and twisting it around my finger.  I loved the complements people would gush to me,  "Your hair is so pretty and long!" I got that a lot.  But what I think I miss the most is tucking stray pieces behind my ear.  For some reason nothing made me feel more like a princess.  The Bible wasn't lying when it said a woman's hair was her crown!  And now my crown was gone.  And I felt very... ugly.

  Crying myself to sleep at night was only the tip of the iceberg.  My very soul felt smothered every time I looked in a mirror.  I even considered covering the mirrors in my room and not looking in one until my hair grew out.  It was one of the lowest points for me.  No matter how anything else was going, I just couldn't be happy because I didn't have hair.

  Sometimes I wonder how I got through.  Looking back I think I lived in the first state of grief: denial.  I shoved a hat or scarf on my head and just avoided looking in mirrors.  I laughed about my bald head with my friends but when I was alone I did my best not to think about it.  "Christmas," I would think to myself, "I will have hair by Christmas."

So here is December.  My hair grows again (though not fast enough for my liking).  I both love and hate my new do.  Love because it is hair on my head and it is mine.  Hate because it is only a shadow of what it once was.  But at least my wish came true.  I will have hair for Christmas.