tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37545883187627968402024-03-19T03:13:30.516-07:00HandsfullDonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-87264290508678338352020-02-11T18:15:00.000-08:002020-02-11T18:15:07.328-08:00To Host or... Not.I was getting ready for work this morning, and as I walked past a bookshelf a title caught my eye: "Hosting the Presence", a book about how to be a person who hosts the presence of God. This is a book I've had for years, have read several times, and marked in lots of places. It's a good book.<br />
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But... as I walked past this morning, I thought how foreign that metaphor feels to me now. To me, 'hosting' implies several things. First, that I am in charge. The host is the one who invites the guest, and sets the time, place and purpose of the visit.<br />
Second, 'hosting' implies a defined time period, with an end. If someone lives with you, you don't say you are hosting them - you use different words.<br />
Third, 'hosting' implies effort. If I am hosting someone, I want my house to be clean and tidy, my kids to be well behaved, and I want to have plenty of delicious food and drink to offer to my guest. None of these things are my normal state of existence, and none of them happen by themselves! (We do have plenty of food and drink, just not 'special occasion' food.) <br />
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Last month I was on holiday at the beach. We visited many different beaches, but at one particular beach there were lots of waves, with a big calm space out behind them. My kids were playing in the waves, but I went out beyond them and floated in the calm water, only moving enough to keep my balance, letting the water hold me up and the waves rock me as they moved towards the beach. I stayed there for a long time, enjoying the peace - the warm sun on my face, and the cool water around me. Close enough to hear the sound of the surf and the kids playing in it, but far enough away that the sounds were not filling my attention. When I eventually looked around, I realised that the water had carried me a way down the beach. Despite making absolutely no effort to move, I was now several hundred meters away from where I'd started. I hadn't been carried out - the water was still the same depth - but I was in a different place. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxOKu0DIGgcjOEe6KekM0pL2iAu6ITjScXoA5f4v4Tv-RPGXT3_PZDExbrT1bEa5TmJyRdhxKVq8dNTQAXsKwlvSiB60C0nPC2WYe4951v14UbUJjhBMlI-ciwSdgd45a45CbqAlICQ/s1600/1476.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxOKu0DIGgcjOEe6KekM0pL2iAu6ITjScXoA5f4v4Tv-RPGXT3_PZDExbrT1bEa5TmJyRdhxKVq8dNTQAXsKwlvSiB60C0nPC2WYe4951v14UbUJjhBMlI-ciwSdgd45a45CbqAlICQ/s320/1476.JPG" width="320" /></a>I met with my spiritual director a few weeks ago, and we talked about God and me. As you do, when you meet your spiritual director! (If you don't know what a spiritual director is, Google it.) He knew that I'd been on holiday, and I told him about this experience. Towards the end of the session, he asked me if I thought this might be a metaphor I could use for my current relationship with God. It certainly is! <br />
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I've 'come a long way down the beach' from when I first read that book. Now I know that I am not hosting God. Instead, I am a very small being, floating in a very big Sea. In Him I live and move and have my being. (Acts 17:28) My life exists within the presence of God - I don't have to work to entice the presence of God to visit my life. I am in control of my life to a certain extent... but to quite a large extent, I am not. I can try to control my life: make decisions about how my life is going to be, and work hard to try to achieve those decisions; or I can relax, and let the currents of God carry me where they will, while I try to keep my balance and enjoy the journey. I say 'try to', because the journey isn't always sunny days and calm waters. Sometimes it rains, sometimes the waves dump me instead of rocking me, and sometimes it's night and I can't see the stars. To clarify, life is often hard. Money is usually tight, the kids aren't angels, I can make dumb choices with the best of them, and scary things like cancer don't only happen to other people.<br />
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Regardless of my circumstances, I believe I am always in, floating on, and sometimes under, the presence of God. I don't visit God, and God doesn't visit me - instead, we are constant companions. If I truly believe the scripture that I quoted before, that I live and move and have my being IN God, then I live my life within that Presence. We all do! The differences between us are our varying levels of awareness both of this fact, and of the Presence that saturates every moment and cell of our beings. Our job is to do what some call 'practising the presence of God'. This doesn't mean that I am practising being God - LOL! - but that I am practising being aware of, or remembering, the presence of God that I am always with. <br />
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I apologise if this doesn't make sense. It's a tricky topic to try to nail down with words.Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-30420314209837365052018-10-22T15:50:00.000-07:002019-06-22T04:17:47.183-07:00Morning Prayer<br />
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Eternal God,<br />
You are the still, calm home around which our busy lives orbit<br />
Like specks of dust around the sun.<br />
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Remind us of Your kindness today,<br />
And open our eyes to Your glory<br />
That fills the whole earth.<br />
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We - broken and imperfect as we are, <br />
Are also containers of Your glory.<br />
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As we inhabit our lives among Your many creations,<br />
Help us to see Your life and love reflected in <br />
The iridescence on swallows' wings,<br />
The blaze of autumn trees,<br />
And each other.<br />
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We are specks of dust, carried on the wind...<br />
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We are made in Your image,<br />
Balanced by the weight of Your love, <br />
Carried on the Wind of Your Spirit.<br />
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Known and loved from eternity to eternity.<br />
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Allelujah! <br />
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<br />Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-12306449183952642532018-01-14T13:58:00.000-08:002018-01-14T13:59:03.693-08:00Father Abraham, Brother Laurence... and me.I had a bad sleep
last night, but I woke at some point during the night with words from God still
in my ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which more than makes up for
the lack of sleep!<br />
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<br /></div>
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For years, I have
struggled with the Bible, particularly the Old Testament.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I struggle with the stories and people in it,
and with the way God is portrayed in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In fact, I almost lost my faith over reading the Bible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So for a couple of years I have barely read
the Bible at all, because I didn't want to upset what felt like a delicate
balance of faith.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Yesterday a book
arrived in the mail for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's called
The Practise of the Presence of God, by a 17th century monk, Brother
Laurence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's a very short book, less
than 100 pages, but it's one I know I will re-read many, many times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brother Laurence talks about how he doesn't
find the set prayers and times of prayer to be of much importance, instead he
focuses his thoughts and heart at all times on God, and in this way he has been
constantly aware of the presence of God with him for many decades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I read his thoughts on not doing what
everyone says you should do, but doing what works for you, my thoughts went
back to my struggles with the Word… because I miss it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I have been aware,
over the last few weeks, of whispers in my spirit from God - little nudges and
promptings back towards Himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
more aware of Him as I go through the day and night, and it feels like a re-awakening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's lovely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It's also sad, because I realise how much I have lost and missed<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of this communion.</div>
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So I woke last night
with the clear thought that I should try reading the Bible again, but this time
rather than letting my focus be captured by the flawed people who populate the
pages, I should focus instead on God in the Bible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look for Him, and His works and
character.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other thing God said to
me was that apart from Jesus, He has never had a perfect person to work with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are all, the whole human race of all
times, messy, generous, sinful, kind, stupid and flawed.</div>
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As I lay in bed
thinking all this over, one thing became clear to me: the teaching I've heard
from birth about the Bible from varying denominations has all had something in
common.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The people in the Bible are
placed in gilded cages; ring-fenced with perfection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either their own perfection, or the
perfection of God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of this
perfection, it is very hard to see them as real people, just like us.</div>
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Take Abraham.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is talked about in churches as the father
of faith, and the man who would do whatever God asked of him - he was even
willing to kill his own son because God asked him to!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we take off the perfection-tinted glasses,
we might notice some things that, if they are mentioned in church, tend to be
brushed over VERY quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abraham
pimped his wife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He pimped his wife to
the Egyptian pharaoh, and got so much cash and livestock as a consequence that
he became one of the richest men around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hmmm… that isn't usually mentioned when we're talking about Father
Abraham!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there's the story of the
sacrifice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Jewish take on the story
of Isaac's near-sacrifice is very different to the Christian one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They see it as a story of Abraham's failure,
rather than the triumph of his faith - in their view Abraham failed because he
didn't question that God wanted child sacrifice, just like all the pagan gods
did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They say that Abraham should have
known God well enough to know that that was not something that He would ever
want, and that God was wanting him to have the courage to say so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I've never ever
heard a sermon on any of this from Sarah's perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sarah tends to be looked down on because she
doubted God - she laughed, mockingly, at the prophecy, then she lost faith and
tried to fix the problem herself instead of waiting for God, creating Ishmael
in the process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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So.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We've got faith-filled Abraham, and doubting,
impatient Sarah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, we've got a man who
doesn't mind handing his wife over for someone else to use if it makes him
rich, and who would rather kill his son than question what he thought God said…
and long-suffering, loving, patient Sarah, who follows her man through right
and wrong, childlessness, bigamy, deserts, step-children, visits from angels,
family break-down, near murder and visions… because her love is as strong as
his faith.</div>
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See what I
mean?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both these versions of the story
are true, but only one is ever spoken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And the air-brushed version is the one we get.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I'm starting again,
reading through the Bible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm reading a
new translation that I haven't read before, and I'm going to do my best to see
the people I meet in the pages with fresh eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I want to let the stories breathe a bit, and let the people be who they
are, instead of who we've made them be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And somehow on this journey, I'm hoping to find more of the God who is
whispering to me to come looking for Him… because He is the whole point of
this.</div>
Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-50984925888457760982017-12-31T02:21:00.001-08:002017-12-31T02:22:45.831-08:00Happy New Year!<br />
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It's the end of
another year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took the kids for a swim
in Mary and Arthur's pool this afternoon, after spending the morning with
Ian, working out details of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> the landscaping we want to do in the next few months. </span>We ate chips and dip, steak,
meat patties, salad and cheesy herbed mashed potatoes while we watched Star
Wars: The Force Awakens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Halfway through
the movie we felt peckish again, so we had salted caramel cheesecake and
ice-cream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jamie and me nodded off
occasionally towards the end of the movie, but we all enjoyed it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jamie went to bed at 10pm, and Samuel,
Isabella and Ben are in Ben's room, determined to stay awake till
midnight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We shall see!</div>
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I'm looking forward
to next year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels full of
possibilities and promise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm sure it
will hold it's share of troubles, but right now the new year is still a
beautiful blank slate.</div>
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<br /></div>
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When I had my last
birthday, I realised that having cancer has changed my perspective on
birthdays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see no reason to be ashamed
of the fact that I'm getting older - isn't a long life what everyone wants?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To achieve that, you have to get older!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, when I celebrate my birthday, I am
celebrating that I have lived for another year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had a whole year to love and learn and live in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I've had 44 whole years, full to the brim of
laughter, tears, pain and joy, and I'm not finished yet!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What's not to celebrate about that?</div>
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So here's to
2017.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a year it was!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Full of restoration, brokenness, grief,
laughter, light and shadow.</div>
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And here's to
2018!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chance of another year to be
with the people I love, watch them grow and change, to work and play and rest…
I am so blessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happy New Year!</div>
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Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-44129153658816656672017-09-14T04:40:00.001-07:002017-09-14T04:40:54.766-07:00Love or FearI found out that a good friend died yesterday.<br />
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I only met her last year, but we had an instant connection. We both liked growing things, and making things. We both had fractured families and loved books. One of the other things that helped cement our friendship was discovering that we had both had breast cancer.<br />
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She was funny, kind, wise, interesting, beautiful and about ten years older than me.<br />
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Yesterday she died from breast cancer that had come back and spread to her liver and bones before it was noticed.<br />
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I was expecting to have more time with her, to be able to at least say goodbye, but the cancer was growing too fast... and yesterday we ran out of time.<br />
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Her name was Nanda.<br />
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She wasn't afraid, or even particularly concerned. She was ready to die, but I wasn't ready. I still have lots of things I want to talk with her about, and I'm sad that the relationships she was beginning to form with my kids have come to an abrupt end. I want to hear about the corners of her life that we hadn't had time to talk about yet.<br />
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I'm sad about Nanda, and I'm scared for me.<br />
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See, here's the thing about cancer. Once you've had it, your chances of it coming back are increased. Mostly I ignore that uncomfortable fact, and pretend that I'm just as invincible as I used to be, and that my plans of living to 93 are perfectly reasonable... but then something like this happens, and I am reminded that while my chances are good, the reality is that this could happen to me just as easily as it happened to Nanda.<br />
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It's scary.<br />
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Even after the cancer is gone, the shadow of it lingers. I'm very aware of things that might be suspicious (or not), I'm much more aware of my energy levels (does the fact that I've been feeling really tired for the last week or two mean anything bad?), and I am VERY aware that time is not guaranteed to anyone, including me.<br />
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I'm not overwhelmed with fear on a daily basis, but it often niggles away at the back of my mind. Because I know that like my lovely Nanda, what seems like back pain that should be fixed by a visit to an osteopath, could actually be cancer destroying my life, one cell at a time.<br />
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But. Here is what I know for sure. Regardless of cancer, hurricanes, car accidents or winning the lottery, love and kindness are ALWAYS the best choice. I can't chose whether I get cancer or not, or what path a hurricane will take. Turns out there's an awful lot I have no control over! What I can control is my reaction to the events I'm presented with each day, and I want to be responsible for adding love to the world, not hurt.<br />
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I chose love.<br />
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<br />Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-51562945725134882952017-08-03T19:32:00.000-07:002019-06-21T21:28:03.407-07:00Time Is Like WaterI had a bath today. <br />
Coming up from the water, after washing the shampoo from my hair.<br />
At around the same time a year ago, I was coming out of a thick fog of anaesthetic<br />
after surgery to remove part of my body<br />
so as to save my life.<br />
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I had a bath today, and thought about how time is like water.<br />
We are conceived into a seemingly unending ocean of time,<br />
which we are as unaware of as the amniotic waters we temporarily live in.<br />
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As children, life stretches endlessly before us, never behind.<br />
Children only look forward, and wish they were older.<br />
Time's ocean is still so vast and mysterious, swirling around us - what will we be, when we grow up?<br />
<br />
I think it's in our thirties that we start to notice something changing.<br />
There isn't as much time as there used to be, somehow.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCDrvxIQTdnTM8K_aVV-j-qfjuk-i8V5bHgbE9fjYLCsxTp8o3B79tHnCX71Ig36YzpF8b97YUBrsTSslfelnBq_fMy2qnsdU8D54VFh1PMcCAj95NkWRYcT9X1fXYhCMldPwVcHc-tw/s1600/051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCDrvxIQTdnTM8K_aVV-j-qfjuk-i8V5bHgbE9fjYLCsxTp8o3B79tHnCX71Ig36YzpF8b97YUBrsTSslfelnBq_fMy2qnsdU8D54VFh1PMcCAj95NkWRYcT9X1fXYhCMldPwVcHc-tw/s320/051.JPG" width="240" /></a>We say things like 'How can it be July already?'<br />
and 'It seems like yesterday that I was still at school!'<br />
<br />
We feel vaguely confused about this, but life is so very busy and we don't pay it much heed.<br />
<br />
There are occasions when time seems to stop;<br />
at the birth of a child, or the death of a parent.<br />
<br />
The rhythm of the waves of time change,<br />
and we are left floundering, gasping...<br />
everything seems upside down and far away.<br />
<br />
Somehow, we regain a sense of equilibrium,<br />
and carry on.<br />
<br />
We don't realise that the ocean of time that we live in<br />
is really a bath with an ill-fitting plug.<br />
<br />
Time disappears while we are busy,<br />
slowly draining away, season by season.<br />
<br />
Sooner or later it runs out and we are left, high and dry.<br />
<br />
Or are we?<br />
<br />
I live within the boundaries of time, but my life is more than the time it takes to live it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-63105288831823951512017-07-26T19:57:00.001-07:002017-07-26T19:57:25.018-07:00Oh, What A Day!Today I had what could be described as 'a bit of a morning'.<br />
<br />
It started off well enough, the kids all got on like best friends, and occasionally took a break from their conversations about the meaning of life to beg me for jobs to do around the house to fill in their time before they went to school. I wish... In actual fact they fought slightly less than usual, and didn't argue more than they usually do when I asked them to do their chores.<br />
<br />
I had a cleaning job to do this morning, so I was leaving the house too. The boys got in the car, while I figured out how to get my shoes on while carrying a bag, two pieces of toast and a mug of coffee. My bag hit the ground hard, and the coffee tipped over, so once I'd cleaned that up, I got my shoes on and got in the car. I put the keys in the ignition, turned them, and heard an ominous clicking sound. The battery was flat! Then somebody mentioned that one of the car doors was open when they got in, and we realised what had happened. When we got home from school yesterday afternoon, my biggest boy was deep in The Hunger Games, and stayed in the car for 1.5hrs until he'd finished the book. Which was fine, except that he didn't shut the car door when he got out, and now we had a flat battery!<br />
<br />
I left messages on two friends' phones, hoping one of them would get back to me soon. The two biggest boys ran to school, but I kept the youngest with me - I didn't trust him to behave for his brothers. We came back inside, and started cleaning up the breakfast dishes while waiting for a phone call.<br />
<br />
After fifteen minutes I'd heard from both my friends. Meg said she'd be at my house in 30 minutes, and Kerri said she'd be here as soon as she found some jumper leads. Kerri arrived after a few minutes, without any jumper leads, as she'd discovered her husband had them in his vehicle. We hunted around our garage on the off-chance there might be some there, but no luck. Kerri went down the road to ask my neighbour Albert if he had any jumper leads, and I came back inside to finish the dishes.<br />
<br />
Kerri arrived back, and I went outside to chat with her while we waited for Albert. After a few minutes a vehicle came down the drive, but it wasn't Albert - Meg had arrived! She had jumper leads, but they were too short to be able to use. Albert now tootled down the drive in his old ute with a bale of hay on the back. He had jumper leads, but we thought we needed to push the car out of the garage to be able to use them. I went to put the keys in the ignition, and realised I had locked myself out of the house.<br />
<br />
So. I now had a car with a flat battery, 3 extra vehicles in the yard, 2 sets of jumper leads that couldn't be used, 3 friends, one of their children who wasn't well, my youngest child, and no keys. <br />
<br />
We decided we would have to burglarize the house.<br />
<br />
It turns out we wouldn't make very good burglars. All the doors were locked, all the windows were shut, and despite applying a hairpin to one of the door locks, we couldn't open them. By this point I was beginning to think I might have to break a window to get my car to start! However, after a bit of faffing about we DID manage to open one of the windows (without breaking it), and my son wriggled inside, and reappeared waving the keys. Hooray! The car started after the first try with the jumper leads, and Albert, Kerri and Meg left. I rang my husband to let him know the problems had been solved, dropped my son off at school only 1.5hrs late, and went off to my cleaning job.<br />
<br />
Lessons learned.<br />
1. ALWAYS shut the car door, no matter how fascinating your book is.<br />
2. We need to buy some jumper leads.<br />
3. We need a spare house key.<br />
4. You never know when you might need a hairclip.<br />
<br />
Now I've just got to get through the afternoon...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-57854275996286727472017-06-05T18:36:00.000-07:002017-06-05T18:44:27.800-07:00Where Was God When I Had Cancer?I haven't said much about God while talking about all the crappiness that's been going on in my life. That's more because it takes a lot of explaining, than that He hasn't been there!<br />
<br />
As I went through the waiting for a diagnosis, eventual confirmation of cancer and then surgery, He was there like a warm, comforting presence. Not saying anything or expecting anything of me, just there for me to lean on. And then He wasn't. I wasn't concerned, but I was aware that that closeness wasn't there any more.<br />
<br />
As you know, if you've read any of my other posts, I love gardening. It makes me happy, and sometimes also produces veges and flowers. :) One of the things I found particularly hard, going through chemo while spring happened around me, was that I wasn't able to do even quarter of the gardening I usually would. I didn't grow anything from seed this year, despite having lots and lots of packets of seeds begging to be planted.<br />
<br />
I was complaining to God about this, around the time of my first chemo round, and He told me that this spring, I was the seed. I had been planted. And when I didn't like the sound of that, He said 'Peace, be still.'<br />
<br />
For all my lovely friends who are now thinking that this was most probably chemo-brain and I have obviously lost my mind if I think I can hear God, relax, calm down, and let me unpack that a little for you. Yes, I believe God speaks to me. And sometimes, I hear Him! No, I don't hear a voice speaking, with my physical ears. What usually happens is a thought cuts across my train of thought, which is different to what I was thinking, with a very different perspective to my own. Sometimes the thought comes with a picture, sometimes it doesn't. But there is always something about the thought that is so different to my own, that I know it wasn't my own thought.<br />
<br />
There is also something consistent, every time, about the thought, and this is the hard bit to explain. You know the times you hear the first few notes of a song, and immediately know who it's by, even if you haven't heard it before? Or the times you start reading a book/article/blog post, and the style of writing is so familiar that you know who wrote it, even before you see the author? That's what it's like when I hear God. There is always the same feeling to what is said, and I am familiar with it now. What I hear is always better than myself - kinder, more loving, forgiving, and often funny. The perspective the thought brings is bigger than my own. What I hear isn't always about me, sometimes it's about other people. And no, I can't make it happen. Sure, I can pretend, and make stuff up... but it's like the difference between seeing a three year old's painting of a sunrise, and seeing the real thing.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3SoqKEx6_zglcYcYy2B2oC-tZRAzTTXFdWQ-zkW5s7WEcQxJlEC9a4EJdtqFUdvobVxISnb4JjQo3Lk4RGCEeeycADhJ4i4ygDZqibgAc41qE3cUE9tsnSotn0b9nBpjAga9SDSGig/s1600/032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3SoqKEx6_zglcYcYy2B2oC-tZRAzTTXFdWQ-zkW5s7WEcQxJlEC9a4EJdtqFUdvobVxISnb4JjQo3Lk4RGCEeeycADhJ4i4ygDZqibgAc41qE3cUE9tsnSotn0b9nBpjAga9SDSGig/s400/032.JPG" width="400" /></a>So, God had told me that I was a seed, that had been planted. As I was going through the awfulness that is chemotherapy, I mulled over this thought. I thought a lot about seeds, and dirt and growing conditions, and I eventually realised a few things. First, a seed has no control over what happens to it. It does not choose when it is planted, or where. When it has been planted, it has no control over creating the conditions it needs to sprout - it can't make the dirt warm up, or bring the right amount of moisture. All a seed can do, is wait for the time to be right.<br />
<br />
I didn't like the thought that I'd been planted in the dirt - that sounded an awful lot like burial to me, which isn't a very comforting metaphor when you've got cancer! So I ignored that bit, and focused on the seed. One thing really intrigued me, which was that I had no indication at all of what kind of seed I was - dandelion, maple, mangrove, apple, coconut or carnation? It was a mystery. I sincerely hoped that I wasn't the type of seed that needed a forest fire to sprout!<br />
<br />
And then there was the 'Peace, be still' bit. I knew that this was the exact expression Jesus used when calming a storm - which seemed appropriate! I had been talking with a friend about breath prayers, and I found that this phrase fitted perfectly. So when my mind was churning in the middle of the night, and I was scared and worried, I would lie in the dark and focus on my breathing. Every time I breathed in, I would think 'Peace'. And every time I breathed out, I would think 'Be still'. And I would remember that I was a seed that had been planted, and all I could do was wait. However, there was one thing I could do that a seed couldn't - I could hope.<br />
<br />
So I did. I waited, and breathed, and hoped, and spoke peace to my body and soul in the middle of the storm.<br />
<br />
To be continued...Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-43646193308806874602017-03-04T00:41:00.000-08:002017-03-04T00:41:19.135-08:00I Am A Survivor, And I've Got The Sash To Prove It.I've just had one of the more surreal experiences of my life.<br />
<br />
Today was the annual Relay for Life, organised by the Cancer Society. I had been asked if I would like to go, to participate in the first lap of the relay, which is walked by cancer survivors and their families. I decided that, yes, I would like to do that, so today we made the long drive, and got to the sports park where it was being held. My husband had to work, but was planning on meeting us there, so I got the kids sorted, and got us all over to the marquee where there was a little bit of shade (it was a beautiful, scorching late summer day), and drinks and snacks were being provided for survivors and their families.<br />
<br />
The marquee was packed, and there wasn't anybody there that I recognised, so I found some spare chairs, sat the kids down, and texted my husband that we'd arrived. Some kind girls brought orange juice over for the kids, and I was told to help myself to food off the tables, so despite having to edge in between people already sitting round all the tables, I did so.<br />
<br />
That was awkward enough... but it was about to get quite bizarre.<br />
<br />
We were sitting in a row, eating our snacks, when a man walked up to me and said, 'Hello Donna! Do you recognise me?' I looked at him for a moment, and he helpfully added, 'I'm your cousin.' I looked again, and then I realised - he was my first cousin, whom I hadn't seen in 19 years, since I left the brethren! As I glanced away from his face for a moment, the penny dropped.<br />
<br />
There were quite a few adults, teenagers and youngish children all dressed the same, in smart dark blue outfits with red logos, and a ute nearby with the same logo on it. The logo was RRT, which stood for Rapid Relief Team. These were the people doing a great job of supplying the food and drink for survivors at the relay. These people also all belong to the brethren, the cult I had been brought up in and left, many years ago. I hadn't seen most of them since the day I left, and now here they were, all smiling at me (and whispering behind their hands when they thought I wasn't looking), and offering us food and drink.<br />
<br />
Two others came up and introduced themselves - I couldn't talk to one of them because my phone rang - and it was such a surreal experience, seeing teenagers that I'd never seen before, but knowing exactly who they were because they looked just like their parents, who were teenagers the last time I saw them!<br />
<br />
So. There I was, sitting awkwardly in a row with my kids, not knowing any of the other survivors at any of the tables, and eating food I'd stolen (it felt like) from off the tables in front of other people, surrounded by members of the cult I had left 19 years ago. One of the rules of the brethren is that they don't eat or drink with anyone who isn't a member... except that now they were quite happy to provide me, an ex-member (ex-members are regarded as the worst of all sinners) with food and drink. In fact, they were quite insistent about giving us drinks, and my kids had to keep saying they didn't want any more drinks just yet.<br />
<br />
At this point, my husband arrived, and now all of this had to be explained - several times, because the kids all wanted to know what was going on - while trying not to make it obvious to the milling brethren that we were talking about them. A brethren lady who had been friends with my mum came over and said hello, and we chatted briefly, which was nice... but very odd. The whole experience was very odd!<br />
<br />
Eventually I saw a fellow survivor whom I recognised from the Look Good, Feel Better programme I'd been to, so I went and talked to her for a few minutes. Her gorgeous four year old daughter bounced on her knee while she told me that she had been told she was going to die before next Christmas. Her cancer had spread throughout her body, and the treatment she was having wasn't stopping it. We talked for a while, and then it was time for the relay to start.<br />
<br />
As I walked towards the starting line, holding my husband's hand and surrounded by a gaggle of kids, I started to laugh. I was wearing a sash I'd been given, which said 'SURVIVOR', and I told my husband that when we got back from doing the survivors' lap, I was going to ask for another sash. He looked surprised, and I explained that the representatives of both the things I've survived were there - the cult, and the cancer - and I wanted a sash for each of them.<br />
<br />
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We stood with the other cancer survivors, their families, and the families of people who had died from cancer, and I listened as the Lord's Prayer was said, a drumming group started playing and led us all round the track, and I walked. Holding hands with my husband and one of my sons, my arm around another son, and my other two children huddled in close, we walked past the brethren group I used to belong to, and I smiled at them as they took photos of the parade of people streaming past them.<br />
<br />
After the first lap, we watched as the real work of the relay began, and hundreds of people walked and ran round the track. Eventually we left them to it, and walked out the gates. Past the Cancer Society tents, past the brethren now busily setting up water stations for the relay participants and getting a bbq going, and out into the clear air and sunshine to get on with our day.Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-70600475168524295042017-02-16T20:05:00.000-08:002017-02-16T22:21:12.368-08:00Life's back to normal now, right?It's been a while between posts... again.<br />
I finished radiation on 9 January, 2017. My husband and kids came with me for the last treatment, and afterwards we went to the food court and everyone bought whatever they wanted for lunch. It was fun, I was glad to be done, and glad to be celebrating with my family.<br />
<br />
Then we went home, my husband went back to work, and me and the kids had to survive the next three weeks of school holidays! That was hard - I was tired, my skin hurt, it was hot and the kids were unsettled and wanting my attention, and I was struggling to keep up with them and just wanting to be on my own so my head and heart could start to process the last seven months of trauma.<br />
<br />
The school holidays ended eventually, my daughter started high school, the boys went back to primary school, and I FINALLY got a few hours of the peace I'd been craving.<br />
<br />
So... it's all done. I've survived cancer and the treatment, and now I can get on with my life, right?<br />
<br />
Not exactly.<br />
<br />
The last effects of chemo are still working their way out of my body. The skin damage from radiation wasn't nearly as bad as I was told it could be (thank goodness for Mepitel, the wound dressing that protected my fragile skin), but the radiation zone is still discoloured and very sensitive. And then there's the side effects from the tamoxifen!<br />
<br />
The biggest problem are the hot flushes. These are really unpleasant, and very disruptive to getting a sound sleep at night. My feet and ankles have become really stiff and achy - if I've been sitting for more than ten minutes, I hobble like an old lady when I get up. This seems to be getting worse, rather than better. So now I've started on a blood pressure drug that is supposed to help calm both these side effects down. I don't like taking yet another medication, but I could really do with some decent sleep. I've only had the occasional good night's sleep since I started chemo, back in September, so I'm giving this a go.<br />
<br />
There's more... but I'm not going to go into it all. Suffice it to say that hormone treatment is not fun.<br />
<br />
I don't really feel like myself yet. I don't think I'll ever be the person I was before cancer - going through all of this has changed me. I've lost parts of myself, physically and emotionally, and that's no small thing. I am still grieving, and I don't know when that will change. I'm craving quiet and peace. Emotionally, I'm tired down to my bones.<br />
<br />
There is a lot of joy, but there is also a lot of grief. One does not cancel out the other. I don't feel strong yet, but I've made many small steps towards becoming stronger.<br />
<br />
A while back I said that going through all this is like an eclipse of
the moon. If I stick with this analogy, I'm coming out on the other
side, the light is getting brighter, but the shadow isn't all gone yet. <br />
<br />
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<br />Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-77265071616006948452016-11-29T00:37:00.004-08:002016-11-29T00:43:56.183-08:00RadiationDealing with the cancer I had, is a four stage process.<br />
<br />
Stage 1: surgery. Done!<br />
Stage 2: Four rounds of chemotherapy. Done!<br />
Stage 3: Fifteen zaps of radiation.<br />
Stage 4: Ten years (yes, you read that right) of hormone treatment.<br />
<br />
If you don't count the hormone treatment, I'm two thirds of the way through, with the worst of it over with. If you do count the hormone treatment... I'm not sure! I'm starting that in the next week or so, and I'm feeling a bit apprehensive about it. The oncologists are fairly blase about it, but I've heard some fairly grim accounts about the side-effects from women who have been on it... so we shall see.<br />
<br />
The most immediate side-effect will be that it will keep me in menopause, which the chemotherapy started. It is what it is, and I'd rather go through an early and chemically-induced menopause than die of cancer, but I didn't like using the pill because I didn't like the idea of faffing about with my hormones; and I really don't like the idea of being on this stuff for 10yrs. I'm sick of hot flushes already, and it's only been a few weeks! Finding something that can help with menopause side-effects is going to be tricky, because most treatments for menopause issues involve either oestrogen or progesterone. As these are the hormones that were feeding the cancer I had, and that the hormone treatment is suppressing, putting them back into my body is a very bad idea! Unfortunately that leaves me with... pretty much nothing to help. I talked to the oncologist about it, and she suggested using a fan. I'm thinking that going by her empathy levels, she hasn't been through it yet!<br />
<br />
Radiation is starting on 19 December. Fabulous timing, right?! The radiation oncologist (the shortened version of which is 'rad onc'... I told him he needed a better nickname.) wanted me to start treatment in early December, but I told him I wasn't available until 19 December. He looked a little surprised about this and asked why, so I told him that I have four kids (he seemed quite horrified at the thought of so many children), I've missed half a year of their school events, and I'm NOT missing the last few weeks of prize-givings etc for radiation! He mumbled a bit and did a few calculations, and agreed that I could wait till then. I then mentioned that Christmas was at the end of that week, and with holidays and things they would probably be very busy, and wouldn't it be easier for everyone if I just started after the new year? He was very decisive about the fact that no, that would not be a good idea at all, that waiting till the new year was pushing the timing out to far, and radiation WOULD be starting on 19 December.<br />
<br />
Sigh... oh well, I tried!<br />
<br />
So what does all of that mean? I'm getting 15 zaps of radiation. It happens in Palmerston North, and I have the option of either staying there, or traveling there and back each day (a group of my friends have told me they're happy to be my taxi if and when I require it). Radiation happens every day, apart from weekends and statutory holidays - they said that's to give my body a chance to recover, but I think it's at least partly because they want the time off! - so it's going to take about four weeks. The actual treatment should only take about 15 minutes each time, and doesn't hurt. Oh, and it doesn't involve needles, yay!<br />
<br />
I have been told to expect skin burning - like a bad sunburn - and tiredness that will last for weeks after radiation is finished. But because everyone reacts differently, there's no knowing beforehand whether I'll just get slight burning, or whether my skin will break down and I'll need district nurses to change dressings etc (this was mentioned as a possibility), and whether I'll just feel a bit tired for a few weeks, or be completely exhausted for months (also mentioned as a possibility!). And then there's the fact that they try to angle the radiation so it won't hit my lungs or heart, but there's a chance that they might be affected too...<br />
<br />
So yeah. Radiation is not like chemotherapy, but I'm also aware that it may not be a walk in the park.<br />
<br />
Oh, and did I mention that after having a mastectomy, I found lying on a table naked from the waist up with my arms above my head, with medical staff watching through a glass window while other medical staff talked above me, drew on me, tattooed me and took photographs of the end result (all so they can make sure that the radiation happens in the exact same place, every time) to be actually quite traumatic?<br />
<br />
It didn't hurt much, physically... but I'm not looking forward to doing radiation.Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-17532467637820375482016-11-05T20:07:00.002-07:002016-11-06T00:20:42.639-07:00Hair today... gone tomorrow.Chemo sucks.<br />
<br />
Everything hurts or doesn't work properly, including my brain.<br />
<br />
And then it almost wears off, I start feeling human again and noticing the rest of the world (until I notice the US presidential elections, and wish I hadn't...), and then it's time for my next cycle, and down I crash again!<br />
<br />
It's hard.<br />
<br />
Getting the chemotherapy is actually the easy bit. Dealing with what happens as my body tries to cope with what's been thrown at it, is hard.<br />
<br />
The most obvious side-effect is the hair loss. My hair hasn't quite all gone yet, but what's left is very thin, and prickly. When my hair was falling out, my scalp was really tender, and sore to touch, but that stage seems to have gone now, thank goodness! So, now I have pretty much no hair. It has really surprised me how cold my head gets - hair is obviously a very good insulator. I have to wear hats etc, because otherwise I get cold. It does work quite well in reverse though - when I get hot flushes (another side effect), I can take my hat off and cool down pretty quickly!<br />
<br />
As a woman, having no hair is pretty confronting. It totally changes the way I look, and it totally changes the way people look at me. I've never been particularly worried about how I look - I almost never wear make-up, and clothes shopping is something I only do out of necessity. If something still fits and doesn't have holes in it, I don't see the point of throwing it out. I've never thought of myself as beautiful, or been particularly bothered about how I look, and I'm much more interested in a person's opinions, character and story, than the brand of sunglasses or shoes they're wearing, or the car they drive.<br />
<br />
So I honestly didn't think that I would be particularly phased by losing my hair.<br />
<br />
Lol!<br />
<br />
Silly me.<br />
<br />
What to do, when you have no hair and don't want to go bald in public? For the first while I decided I didn't care what I looked like, and went for comfort. Cue the beanie! Great for comfort and warmth, but rather lacking in style. After several weeks of mostly beanie wearing, even I was starting to feel decidedly frumpy. Not good!<br />
<br />
I've also got some scarves, which work really well as turban-style head-covering. However, I've discovered that wearing some things on my head gives me flash-backs to my brethren past - I wore silk scarves on my head when I was at church from the age of 3, and for the last few years I was in the brethren I was wearing a scarf the whole time unless I was home. At school, going shopping, at work, at church: unless I was in a brethren home, I had a scarf on my head.<br />
<br />
I haven't worn a scarf on my head since then. I didn't think about it, until I was wearing a cap thingy, and was struck by how I kept pulling it down over my ears, and wondered why that feeling was so familiar, and why it was accompanied by a sense of dread... and then I realised.<br />
<br />
Life in a cult: the gift that keeps on giving! I'm slowly getting over the flash-backs... but it's just another thing to deal with.<br />
<br />
I've got two friends who have been through chemotherapy in the last
couple of years, who have loaned me their wigs. This has been
fantastic, because it's meant I've had a couple of different options
available right from the start. The wigs look amazingly natural, and I look very different with each of them. I've had several people I know reasonably well, walk straight past me in the street because they didn't recognise me. But... it's not my hair, I'm always worried whether they're sitting right or not, and they're a bit itchy and tight on my head.<br />
<br />
It is nice, not having to bother with washing my hair, or brushing it, or trying to keep it out of my face, or getting haircuts... but I am REALLY looking forward to my hair starting to grow back in a few months time. Not just because it turns out that I quite like my hair, but because it'll be a sign to me that I'm through the worst of this cancer crap, and that life - and my hair - is starting to return to normal.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, there is one silver lining. It's not only the hair on my head that isn't growing - I haven't had to shave my legs for a couple of months!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-54245930787919547092016-09-21T02:30:00.006-07:002016-09-21T02:30:58.892-07:00Chemotherapy, Round 1It's been two weeks since I had my first dose of chemotherapy, and it feels like the worst of the side-effects have mostly worn off.<br />
<br />
It was pretty awful... but not as bad as it could have been. I'll tell you more about it after the second round.<br />
<br />
What I'm really struggling with at the moment, is the feeling that I'm on some kind of weird home detention. Because the chemotherapy wipes out my immune system, I am very, VERY susceptible to other people's bugs, and what is just a cold for a friend, can become pneumonia for me very fast. Which sounds ridiculously dramatic... but it's true. When explorers came across a tribe that hadn't seen outsiders before, it was very common for much of the tribe to die from illnesses that the explorers were carriers of. The tribe's immune systems had never been exposed to these viruses/bacteria before, and they had no way of fighting them off. That's pretty much my position. All my built-up immunity has been wiped out by the chemotherapy, and it's starting again from scratch! And it has to start again from scratch after each round of chemotherapy. So I have to stay away from people, particularly groups of people, as much as I can <br />
<br />
All of which means, if you have a cold or a tickly throat, or someone in your family has bugs, PLEASE don't come and visit me! Please don't have my kids round to play if your family aren't all healthy, because my immune system has enough challenges going on at the moment, particularly with 4 kids in the house.<br />
<br />
Moving on from the physical to the mental...<br />
<br />
The chemotherapy process seems to be one of letting go. I've had to let go of going to school assemblies, watching my kids in various different activities, growing a big vege garden, going to church, being a part of the community garden... and yesterday I had to let go of my hair. Even the way I think is different - it's called chemo-brain. My thinking is fuzzier, sometimes it's hard to find the right words, and every now and then it's like my brain fills up with fog, and I can't make decisions about anything, or even think coherently.<br />
<br />
It's hard. And scary.<br />
<br />
I know that it's all temporary... but it's my reality right now, and will be for the next few months.<br />
<br />
It feels like I'm in some weird kind of personal autumn. I'm like a tree, watching so many of the things I love doing and so much of my physical being that I took for granted, just fall away, like leaves onto the ground. And there's nothing I can do about it! I can't hold on to these things tighter, I HAVE to let them go. I have to surrender to this process, and let so much of what has brought meaning to my life, slip out of my hands. <br />
<br />
What makes it stranger, is feeling like this while it's spring outside. Seeing new lambs, trees budding, bulbs flowering, everyone getting excited about what they're going to grow this season, the weather starting to warm up... while in my life, everything is slowing down and paring back to what seems like a long way short of the bare essentials. I feel completely out of tune with life around me.<br />
<br />
It often feels like I'm in that little patch of shadow, watching everyone else in the sun.<br />
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<br />Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-80320879831897089632016-09-04T19:35:00.003-07:002016-09-04T19:40:46.508-07:00Both And.After almost a week of agonising, and trying to get second opinions (which proved to be impossible), I finally made the decision - I'm going to do chemo.<br />
<br />
I immediately felt much better - I looked out the window and thought 'Oh wow, the sun's out and it's a beautiful day!' I actually hadn't noticed until then.<br />
<br />
So, I've made the decision, and I'm getting my first dose on Wednesday, 7 September. I'm going to be having four lots of chemotherapy, about three weeks apart, if all goes well. Nobody can tell me how I'll be afterwards - whether I'll be one of the lucky ones who sails through chemotherapy, only feeling a bit seedy for a few days; or whether I'll be one of the ones who is completely wiped out the whole time. I'm obviously hoping for the first option!<br />
<br />
So I've been trying to figure out how to keep all the plates of our family spinning, while having no idea how much help I'm going to need. Which makes it a little tricky... there have been a few phone calls where I'm asking people if they can do such and such, if I need it. And so far everyone has been very obliging!<br />
<br />
One thing I do want to talk about is my positive attitude.<br />
<br />
I do have a positive attitude, in that I'm doing my best to deal with whatever is thrown at me, the best that I can. I'm doing #100happydays on Facebook, where I'm talking each day about the little or big things that make me happy. And people seem to like that.<br />
<br />
But the 'brave cancer fighter' label is a tricky one. Because yes, I'm brave. And yes, I'm fighting this. And yes, I have a positive attitude.<br />
<br />
But I am more stressed than I've been in years. I cry a lot. I'm still taking painkillers from my surgery 4.5weeks ago. Little things like trying to decide what to wear, take a lot of emotional energy. I often want to hide - to just be by myself - because my heart hurts about the way our lives have all changed. We're having dinner conversations about the side effects of chemotherapy, and what I'll look like with no hair, and while that's good, and I'm glad we can talk about it with the kids, I HATE that my kids are having to think about this stuff, connected with their mum. My head often feels like it's spinning, and I've learnt that deep breathing helps when my stomach hurts from stress.<br />
<br />
This is what brave looks like too.<br />
<br />
This is the other side of the 'positive attitude'.<br />
<br />
If I was only ever upbeat and happy, that wouldn't be healthy. And sometimes I worry that because I'm publicly focused on the positive, the other side of this might be forgotten.<br />
<br />
The other side is, that this is one of the scariest times of my life; that it's so hard that my husband and I congratulate each other, every night, on making it through another day; that despite our reassurances, my kids are worried that I'm going to die; and that I really, really wish my biggest concern was that my seedlings were getting knocked over (like last year).<br />
<br />
That's why this is titled 'Both And', rather than 'Either Or'. Because life isn't one or the other, it's both at the same time. That's what this is about - focusing on the positive, while still feeling scared. Noticing the lovely, while wiping away tears. Taking deep breaths to be calm for the kids, while knowing that the reason they're fighting so much is because they're scared too.<br />
<br />
I see focusing on the positive as my act of defiance. Regardless of the bad and scary and evil that is going on in the world, in my life and even in my own body, I WILL still see the good and beautiful and lovely in the world, and my life... and even my own body.<br />
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Both and. I acknowledge the dark is there, but I choose to focus on the light.<br />
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<br />Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-45748510666209174082016-08-24T15:30:00.001-07:002016-08-24T15:30:30.919-07:00A Histology Report and a MinionAs it seems to be my habit to write blog posts just before something happens, here I go again!<br />
<br />
We had our appointment last Thursday with the surgeon to get the histology results ('histology' means the study of cells and microscopic stuff), and as you may already be aware, it didn't go terribly well. Not because of the results, but because of a registrar (junior doctor) who was standing in for the surgeon. The registrar unfortunately had very little knowledge, and even less empathy. I haven't been so angry for a very long time. However, he eventually fled the room, and shall be ignored henceforth. Be gone, minion!<br />
<br />
The surgeon (probably summoned urgently by someone telling her the registrar had run away and there was a patient about to lose the plot) went through the histology report with us, and the results are mixed.<br />
<br />
First up, the good news: I don't need any more surgery! YAY! There was a chance that they may not have been able to get enough of a border of healthy tissue around the tumours, which would have meant going back into surgery. They got a clear margin, and I'm done with surgery. Very, very happy about that!<br />
<br />
Next, the not quite so good news: the lymph nodes they removed looked clear on first inspection. However when they were thoroughly checked, one of them had a micro cancer in it. When they talk about lymph nodes, they talk about micro and macro cancers. This one was a micro cancer, which means it had only just got there, and hadn't gotten around to unpacking it's bags or meeting the neighbours yet.<br />
Because it was so tiny, and the other lymph nodes they removed were all clear, they are going to leave the other lymph nodes in. But because it was there at all, the necessity for me to have chemotherapy has gone up from about 10% to 50%.<br />
The surgeon said that they are suggesting, rather than recommending, that I have chemo, and that they are leaving the decision up to me.<br />
<br />
How nice! The ones with all the years of training and experience and degrees and white coats, are going to let ME make the decision about whether I have chemo or not. <br />
<br />
Then they said that I'd have a meeting with the chemo guys in 2-3wks, so they could give me percentages and probabilities and statistics, and then I could make the decision.<br />
<br />
Sigh... more waiting, which I was extremely unexcited about, but had finally mustered up a few more skerricks of patience, to wait, again.<br />
<br />
Until this morning, when the phone rang. It was the hospital, saying they had an appointment for me this afternoon, if I could make it! After a minute of frantic mental calculations involving travel time and the logistics of 4 kids, I said yes, thank you very much!<br />
<br />
So, I'm off this afternoon, to talk statistics and survival rates with the chemo guys. <br />
<br />
Preparations for Round Two are beginning.Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-73593705787766897962016-08-17T16:49:00.000-07:002016-08-17T16:49:45.958-07:00An Eclipse Of The Moon - or, post-surgery update.Time for an update. It's been a while, since my last post, and things have been happening.<br />
<br />
I had surgery 2 weeks ago, on August 4. They took a few lymph nodes out and sent them off to the lab for testing, while they did the mastectomy. Those lymph nodes came back clear for signs of cancer, so I got to keep the rest of my lymph nodes. This is really good news, because it means much lower chances of possible problems down the track from lymphodema. So, yay!<br />
<br />
I spent 2 nights in hospital, after having problems with my blood pressure dropping after surgery - this made things very interesting when I tried doing something extravagant, like sitting up. However, I got there in the end, and despite a power cut at the hospital because of a major storm going on, I got home! A week after surgery, I got the drain out, which has made a big difference to my discomfort levels - getting 35cm of plastic tubing out of my body, and not having to carry round a bagful of tubes and canisters has been good. Although my youngest son was a bit disappointed, he's been very interested in how it all worked, and kept wanting to check how much fluid was in the canister every day when he got home from school. I guess it was sort of like checking the rain gauge?! I think maybe he's going to be an engineer, or a doctor. Or maybe a professional air guitarist...<br />
<br />
Then there were complications with pain meds - apparently I'm sensitive to them. And THEN there's been a bit of lymphodema in my arm, and now I'm dealing with cording! Cording is scar tissue forming in the lymph drainage channels, and it hurts. I've got some in my arm, and I can also feel some across the top of my chest.<br />
<br />
So it's been quite busy, what with one thing and another!<br />
<br />
I've spent a lot of time on the couch, watching Olympics and sleeping, we've had a wonderful array of food fairies who have brought us dinner every night, friends have done washing and looked after kids, I've had lots of visitors and texts and messages and phone calls, and we have been very well cared for and loved.<br />
<br />
This afternoon we go back to see the surgeon. We'll get the results of the testing they've been doing on the lymph nodes and tumors, and we'll be told what the suggested plan is for further treatment. At this point, I'm expecting to be told I need radiation and hormone therapy, and in the back of my head is the possibility that I might need chemo as well.<br />
<br />
It feels very much like I'm going to see the judge to hear my sentence!<br />
<br />
I don't want to be doing any of these things. I want to be planning what's going to be happening in the community garden this spring, and drooling over seed catalogues while planning my own vege garden, and planting new fruit trees, and finishing my proof-reading course, and being fully involved in all my kids activities, and thinking about carpet colours for my daughter's new bedroom, and working out with my husband when, exactly, our new shed is going to be built.<br />
<br />
I think I'm pretty much over the shock of the diagnosis, and now I'm more frustrated and grumpy and scared, than shocked.<br />
<br />
None of this is what I wanted. But it's what I've got, so I'm dealing with it one day - or one hour - at a time.<br />
<br />
Do today well. That's what I'm trying to do. Some days that means I rest and heal. And some days I manage to pick up a little bit more of what I've - temporarily! - let got of.<br />
<br />
I saw some photos I took 2 years ago, of an eclipse of the moon. And somehow it made me think of my life. It's dark at the moment, and it's going to get darker. It's scary, and things aren't right. But this shadow will eventually pass, and slowly, slowly things will come back to normal. It won't ever be 'normal' like before the 22 June, but close enough to be recognisable as normal.<br />
<br />
So I'm holding 2 thoughts in my mind. The first is, do today well. The second is, this too, shall pass!<br />
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<br />Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-49327177869754707502016-07-04T16:38:00.000-07:002016-12-01T12:37:18.451-08:00The Rollercoaster I Wasn't ExpectingOk, so here's a blog post I never thought I'd have to write.<br />
<br />
I have breast cancer.<br />
<br />
Looking at the words, sitting there in black and white... it still seems surreal. Really?! I've birthed four babies, and breastfed them all, isn't that supposed to give me some protection against breast cancer? Apparently not enough.<br />
<br />
It's been a shock for me, and an even bigger shock for my husband. I was shocked, but not surprised when they told me; I had been sure something wasn't right for a while. My husband wasn't prepared at all, and was blindsided by the news.<br />
<br />
I've known there's been a lump since Easter. I got it checked, because
it was painful, but we thought it might just be trauma (my 6yr old son had been
headbutting me during an Easter service. Lol!), so when it stopped
hurting, I assumed it must be fine, despite the lump still being there.
About a month ago, the lump started hurting again, for no apparent
reason, and even though the pain stopped after a few hours, I thought I
should probably get it checked again. The nurse agreed with me, and
referred me to the breast clinic... and here we are.<br />
<br />
Just to be clear - we are not blaming my son for causing the lump, we are thankful he drew my attention to what was already there!<br />
<br />
So yeah... it's been a hard week. Dreading telling people, but wanting to tell them. Not wanting to go through chemo, surgery and radiation, but wanting to get on and DO something. Feeling healthy, but knowing I've got cancer.<br />
<br />
It feels like preparing to go off to war. Thinking about what I need to change, what I'm not going to be able to do, all while being carried along by the usual daily life. Making lists in my head of people I need to tell, and how I'm going to do that...<br />
<br />
I'm not afraid, exactly - no soldier going off to war thinks they'll be the one that doesn't come back. No, change that. I am afraid, but I'm not terrified. I'm very concerned about what this means for me and my family, and how this is going to affect us all. <br />
<br />
My husband needs his wife, and my kids need their mum, and I will be doing absolutely everything I know to do, to make sure I can be there for them until I'm at least 90! I know what it's like to not have a mum, and I do not want that for them. <br />
<br />
One thing I am sure of, right from the start: I will be honest. I will not pretend to feel or believe or act or think anything, to make anyone else feel better.<br />
<br />
No pretending. If I'm sad, I'm sad. If I'm fine, I'm fine. If I'm falling apart, that's exactly what I'll do, and if I'm ridiculously happy, then please don't tell me I'll be feeling worse again soon!<br />
<br />
That goes for everyone else around me - don't try to 'be strong' for my sake. What I'd much rather you do, is be real.<br />
<br />
I still want to hear about your lives - what madness your in-laws have been up to lately, how your kids are driving you nuts, how you're so sick of your car breaking down again, and the funny thing your 4yr old said to you yesterday. But I'm going to need to talk about me, too. And I'm going to need you to listen. So if you want to help, but don't know how, send me emails, or message me on Facebook. Let me know you're thinking about me, and you care, and tell me about what's going on in your world. And when I reply, keep the conversation going!<br />
<br />
One last thing. I'm not going to say that I'll be fine, or ok, or that God will make everything turn out well. All of those things are what I want with all my heart... but they're what everyone wants, who starts out on this journey, and it's not true for us all. I'm being honest, remember? I don't have any assurances from God that everything will turn out the way I want it to, and to be honest, I'm not asking Him for any. What I am very aware of, is the presence of God with me; <span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">loving, compassionate, and patient. He's not demanding or
expecting anything from me, He's just there. Solid, warm and real. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">That is what is real, and true, and rock steady. And that is enough.</span></span>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-2175661475709212142016-06-16T03:45:00.000-07:002019-06-22T04:07:38.885-07:00Pigs Fly, Briefly.<br />
<br />
There once was a man who went mad. We don't know why, but there are many possible reasons. Maybe his child died. Maybe he lost all his money. Maybe the chemicals in his body weren't at the right levels for his brain and body to function the way they were supposed to. Whatever the reason, the reality was that he was lost to himself, and to others. In those days, treatment consisted of guards and restraint, usually with chains, but in this man's terror and fury, he couldn't be contained by clothes, chains or people, and shredded them all. The village where he lived became afraid of him, and threw him out. Finally, his only refuge was the village cemetery on a hill by the lake, where he found shelter amongst the tombstones.<br />
<br />
One day, in the calm that followed a sudden storm, a small boat pulled up on the shore, and Jesus and His disciples got out. The man had seen the boat approaching, and was watching their arrival. Jesus saw him, and spoke to him, but the man sank to the ground, screaming, 'What business do you have messing with me? You're Jesus, Son of the High God, don't give me a hard time!' The disciples had heard about this man - they knew that he was a Gentile, which meant he was unclean to them, and they needed to keep away from him. They also knew that he was said to be possessed by demons and was violent and unpredictable, which meant they'd like to keep quite a long way away from him, and he lived in the tombs, which made him even more unclean to Jews, which is what the disciples were.<br />
<br />
At this point, the disciples, still rattled from the storm they had just survived, were in agreement with the man who was mad - they thought the best thing to do was to get back in the boat, sail away to a nice quiet little bay, gather their wits about them and ask Jesus what, exactly, had just happened out there on the lake. Where had that storm come from? Why hadn't He done anything to help them sail the boat out of danger? If He could make storms stop, why didn't He make it stop sooner? And why on earth was His only concern their lack of faith, instead of their iminent, watery death? (Luke 8:22-25)<br />
<br />
Jesus ignored the disciples' muttered cautions towards Him, as He always did. He turned back to the man and spoke to the demons inside him, telling them to come out. To the shock of the disciples, He then had a discussion with the demons as to where they would go when they left the man. Finally, the demons left the man only to attack a large herd of pigs that had been grazing nearby, and the disciples watched in horrified awe as the maddened pigs ran frantically round in circles, before hurling themselves into the sea... where they drowned.<br />
<br />
The disciples had had quite a day. First they were almost drowned in a storm, then they discovered that Jesus could stop storms, next when they finally got to dry land there was a man who was known to be mad and possibly possessed by demons, and a herd of pigs who jumped into the lake and drowned. <br />
<br />
Next to enter this scene were a group of people from the nearby village, who are - or were - the owners of the pigs. These people were not in the least bit happy! Their pigs had drowned, and somehow the local madman was involved, along with a group of those crazy Jews from over the lake. The villagers told Jesus that they didn't know what He'd just done, but they didn't want Him to do any more, thank you, and could He go away, now. They had large rocks, sticks, and some hungry looking dogs to back their arguments up.<br />
<br />
The disciples were now terrified, again, in risk of serious physical harm, again, and Jesus was not doing anything about it, again. One of the disciples (possibly Thomas) noticed that the madman had calmed down and was shivering. He found a spare cloak that was mostly dry in the bottom of the boat, and threw it over the man, who wrapped it round himself. At this point, the townspeople's attention was drawn from their floating pigs to the man. This was the one who had terrorised their community - raging, screaming in the streets and outside their houses, terrifying their children and servants, shredding clothes, chains, dignity and peace, along with his family's standing in the community. This man, who had been mad, possessed, existing alongside the dead when the living threw him out from their midst; this man was now sitting at the feet of the man Jesus who had somehow been involved in their pigs' deaths. He didn't seem mad anymore - the manic glare had left his eyes, he had a cloak wrapped around himself, and a look of peace on his face. Even his matted hair seemed a little less wild than it used to.<br />
<br />
Jesus pulled out what was harming the man, and returned him to himself. The man wanted to go with Jesus and the disciples, but Jesus wouldn't let him, telling him to go back to his home and his family, and tell them what Jesus had done for him.<br />
<br />
I have often wondered how that went. I wonder how his family reacted - did they welcome him with open arms, or were they fearful and closed off? Was he even allowed back into the village at all? When he returned back to what used to be his life, what was left of it? The bible says that he told many people about Jesus, and what He had done for him, but doesn't tell us anything of the reaction of the man's family and friends to the startling events in his life. As is so often the case with the bible, reading it often leaves me with more questions than answers! <br />
<br />
... Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-57804721591911451762016-06-06T16:44:00.001-07:002016-06-06T16:46:21.698-07:00FUNDAMENTALISM AND NOAH<b> <i>Or: How Russell Crowe reminded me of Argentina.</i></b><br />
<b><i> </i> </b><br />
<b>Spoiler alert: </b>If you haven't seen Noah, and don't want to know the plot-line, stop reading now!<b> </b><br />
<br />
I watched the movie 'Noah' last week, with Russell Crowe playing the main man.<br />
<b> </b><br />
I didn't intend to - my husband had asked me if I wanted to watch it, I declined, and went out to bible study. When I got home, he was partway through the movie, and despite myself, I watched most of it.<br />
<b></b><br />
Let's get this out of the way for starters: I didn't like it.<br />
<br />
For me, it was an insight into an unchecked fundamentalist mindset. One where only men count, only men make decisions, and only men get to hear from God. Actually, in this case (as in many others in real life), only ONE man. Because Noah's sons certainly weren't given any say in the decisions affecting their lives.<br />
<br />
Watching the way Noah steeled himself against the rest of humanity outside his boat, making huge life decisions about his boys' lives because of what HE had decided God meant, made me feel both angry and sick. Because life in fundy-world is just like that. Someone in charge decides that God has told them something, and hundreds or thousands of people have their lives turned upside down, and aren't allowed to question it.<br />
<br />
Here's one example from my life. When I was in my mid-teens, the leader of my cult announced that God had told him that the people in the cult should be more evenly distributed around the world. Places where there were big gatherings should think hard about whether any of them felt 'called' to move to a smaller location. When nobody seemed particularly inclined to move away from their families, the leader started telling people where God had told him they were to move to. One of my relatives lived just round the corner from his elderly parents and disabled sister. Neither of his parents were in good health, and they needed a lot of help with his sister, which he and his family very willingly gave. The leader told my cousin that it was God's will that he should move to Buenos Aires, Argentina. My cousin had never been there, couldn't speak Spanish, didn't want to leave his parents and sister who needed his help, nor his eldest daughter who had just gotten married and moved to Auckland. However, God had spoken, and who was he to argue with God? So... he and his wife and their two young daughters sold the business they had spent years growing, sold their house, packed all their belongings, said goodbye to everyone they knew, and moved to Argentina. All the rest of us looked at each other, wondering who was going to be called on to 'make a sacrifice for the sake of the testimony' (cult-speak) next.<br />
<br />
The thing is, when you know God only speaks to 'that' person, you're not listening for God to speak to you. And even when He does speak, you measure what you hear by what 'that person' says God is saying - and if it doesn't line up, you assume you must be wrong. Or that it's actually the devil talking to you. You know it can't be God, because you know what God sounds like: the person who tells you what God says. This is how 'God' can say increasingly more bizarre things, which nobody questions, because who are they to argue with God?<br />
<br />
Back to the movie. By the time we got to Noah announcing that if his unborn grandchild was a girl he would kill her, I was having trouble staying seated on the sofa. I kept making my husband pause the movie so I could share my thoughts... which he patiently listened to. What can I say, the man is probably a saint. ;)<br />
<br />
This is such a good illustration of how people force themselves to do things that their mind says are right, despite their hearts shouting that they are wrong. 'BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT GOD WANTS!', they shout back at their breaking, traitorous hearts, and become angry, defensive, and more convinced that what they are doing is The Right Thing. Because who can stand making huge decisions that tear your heart apart, only to realise that the decision you made was not only unnecessary, but the wrong one?<br />
<br />
Once you've paid a huge emotional cost to make a stand, you become very attached to that stand. It is incredibly difficult to rethink or change your decision. This is how people like my parents could watch me walk out their front door, and break off all contact with me. Because they are convinced that it is what God wants. And nothing or nobody (including God Himself) has been able to tell them otherwise.<br />
<br />
I then watched Noah's heart win over his head - and thought to myself, he will be tormented with guilt for the rest of his life, over letting God down. He will be telling himself how weak he was, and how shameful what he did was, because he was so convinced that God wanted him to stop the human race continuing... and he couldn't do it.<br />
<br />
Fundamentalism - the game where everyone loses.<br />
<br />
I don't have any nice, tidy bow to wrap all this up with. I don't really know how to finish this post. I don't have any bible verses or quotations. I just know that it's better out here, where I have so many questions and an ever-decreasing stock of answers, than in the cult, where all I had were answers to defend myself against questions I wasn't supposed to ask.<br />
<br />
<br />Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-40624704784679629262015-06-16T15:37:00.001-07:002015-06-16T15:37:21.187-07:00Everyday TreasuresIt's been a year since I've written anything here - I can't believe it's been that long!<br />
<br />
It's winter, in my part of the world. Last night was a crunching hard frost - in fact, there is still frost on the ground at 10am. My three boys were outside before school, exploring the ice over the puddles and mud, and delighting in the discovery of a sock that had been left outside, which was now frozen solid. I managed - just - to get them to school without having to change their clothes.<br />
<br />
I got home from the school run just before 9am. It's a beautiful sunny day, and I walked into my warm house, looked at all the detritus my kids had strewn about before they left, shut my eyes and smiled. I couldn't hear a single thing, apart from the little noises of the fire. That sudden shock of peace is a lovely thing!<br />
<br />
There's one tree I can see out my window that is still hanging on to the last of it's bright red leaves. I've noticed that trees seem to loose the leaves from their newest growth first - the older, more established wood hangs onto it's leaves the longest. <br />
<br />
My neighbour's cow is grieving the loss of her calf, who was sent off in a truck yesterday. She is standing by the fence, bellowing plaintively every few minutes... calling for her baby.<br />
<br />
I am leading an informal worship service at our small church this Sunday. The gospel reading for the day is the story of the disciples, Jesus, a boat, a storm and a miracle. It's raised a surprising number of issues with me, and I'm really struggling with the scripture, my issues and what, exactly, I am going to say on Sunday! I will continue thinking, praying, and probably arguing as I go about my work today - creating order where there is currently a small amount of chaos, doing some study, and running homework club this afternoon.<br />
<br />
These are the things I have noticed this morning. Somehow, noticing things gives them weight and substance. Noticing the leaves, instead of just letting my eyes glance over them, means that I remember them and the pleasure they give me.<br />
<br />
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Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-55556668065159750332014-06-02T14:57:00.001-07:002014-06-02T14:57:51.873-07:00OT God vs NT God - update from the front lines!I'm struggling at the moment between two pictures of God - the one my head has, and the one my heart has.<br />
<br />
My head sees God as disproving, full of laws and rules, angry.<br />
<br />
My heart sees God as the Creator who is still creating, loving, kind, full of grace, and bigger, wilder and free-er than I can understand.<br />
<br />
It feels like I am caught in the cross-fire of a battle between these two images, and am constantly having to defend who I am and how I live to the God who lives in my head. <br />
<br />
Or maybe it feels like a battle between Old Testament God and New Testament God.<br />
<br />
Actually, no - it's not a battle between them, it's OT God attacking NT God.<br />
<br />
I am tired of feeling defensive, upset and angry because of these conflicting beliefs.<br />
<br />
It's interesting how differently I feel when I think about these two images of God. OT God (for want of a better phrase) makes me feel tense, anxious and angry - I can feel a knot of tension in my gut when I'm thinking about Him. When I think about NT God, I can feel myself relax and I start to smile. I can stop defending myself and get on with the business of being myself!<br />
<br />
I just don't know how to stop the fight. I'm tired!<br />
<br />
Any ideas?Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-78722704415478639742014-05-09T21:41:00.001-07:002014-05-09T21:41:10.846-07:00Home(We made it across the tightrope! It was better, and harder, than we expected... and I am finding it very difficult to write directly about what happened, so I'm coming at it sideways. I'm working my way through Making Manifest, a fantastic book about creativity and the Creator by Dave Harrity. This post is a response to one of the writing exercises in the book)<br />
<br />
Home. This is a word that has very complex layers of meaning for me.<br />
<br />
Due
to many reasons, I didn't often feel at home during my childhood. My
happy memories are of places within the houses I lived in, rather than
with the people I lived with.<br />
<br />
Then I left my home, and
my family, and after a few months of wandering, my new church became my
home. I was there whenever it was open, and the people in it embraced
me - I had a new family.<br />
<br />
My next home was my husband. I
had never known anyone to delight in me as he did, and together he and
God became my home. We multiplied ourselves four times, and our house
became much louder and busier. Time in the home of our own company
became very rare and treasured.<br />
<br />
Now I live in a house
that is also my home, on land that feels like home, with my husband-home
and my family - it is all home! Whenever
we come back from a trip away my whole family wanders around our home, delighting that
we are back again. It's not a fancy house - it isn't even completely
finished, despite seven years of living in it - but it is home to all of
us.<br />
<br />
And yet... I've just been home. Home to the
people who lived in my childhood houses. And despite almost two decades
of not seeing them, they are still home. They are familiar to me in a
way that no one else is - I see their childhood likenesses in their own
children, and I realise that I can see my parents in myself.<br />
<br />
The
door that I pushed open to escape through, had been barred tightly
shut. They opened it for my family to come through for a few hours...
and then tried to slam it shut again, but I still had my foot in the
doorway. So they and we talked through the slender opening that was
left, we touched each others faces and tried to memorize each others
voices, because we knew it would be many years, if ever, before we saw
one another again.<br />
<br />
And then the door was shut - gently, but very
firmly, leaving me and my little family on the outside.
We each cried, on our own sides of the wall that they are sure needs to
be there.<br />
<br />
Now I am back in my home, with my husband and
children, but my heart is not quite all back here yet... I think some
part of it may be waiting still, by the wall. Waiting and hoping that
the door might open again, just a sliver.Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-68177268650275040352014-04-14T20:55:00.000-07:002014-04-14T20:55:07.789-07:00Walking across Niagra Falls on a tightrope...The time is getting closer for us to go meet my family - 17 days, to be precise.<br />
<br />
Every time someone comments on this, they almost invariably say 'It's so exciting!'<br />
<br />
And I try not to wince too visibly as I think to myself that it's exciting in the same way as walking across Niagra Falls on a tightrope is exciting.<br />
<br />
I was listening to an audiobook today called A Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans (by the way, I highly recommend this book!), and I got to the bit where she was visiting an Amish family, and noticed a hinge in the dining table. In asking about it, she was informed that they are not supposed to eat at the same table as those who have been shunned, so the Amish have gotten round that by putting a hinge in the table - that way it's not 'the same table', exactly, but they can still eat and fellowship with their family members, whilst keeping their beliefs.<br />
<br />
It broke my heart, a little.<br />
<br />
After my last conversation with my mum, I have realised that the thought of her cooking for me again, and getting to eat food that my mum has cooked for me, seem to be the thing that brings tears the fastest. I'm not sure why exactly... I guess it's symbolic of all the years of mothering that I've missed out on.<br />
<br />
If she offers to cook for me/us, I will definitely accept her offer. But how the eating part of all that will work out, is anyone's guess.<br />
<br />
I wish they had a hinge in their table...Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-13285868112480567332014-03-22T17:48:00.000-07:002014-03-22T17:48:03.502-07:00The prodigal daughterSo... I'm doing it.<br />
<br />
I am flying my whole family to the other end of New Zealand to - hopefully - spend some time with my parents, my brothers and their children.<br />
<br />
This may not sound like a huge deal, but I haven't seen my parents in 5yrs, or 3 of my brothers since the day I left home, 17yrs ago.<br />
<br />
So we booked the flights and accomodation, and then I rang my mum to tell her we were coming. She sounded surprised, but not horrified, which I took as a good sign. I rang her again a few days later, and tried to get some idea of how much access we were likely to get to them all, and was very pleasantly surprised to discover that she is keen to see us!<br />
<br />
Now, before you get all excited and assume the welcome mat is out and all is forgiven... what that actually means (as far as I know so far) is that we aren't staying with them, we can't eat or drink with them - although Mum did say that they could cook for us, but just not eat with us - we can't go to church with them, and I'm not sure yet if any of my brothers will meet us. BUT, and this is a very big but, we will be allowed inside my parents house. I have not been inside my parents home since I left. In fact, the last time I went to their home, with my brand-new fiancee to tell them we were getting married, my dad ordered us off the property.<br />
<br />
I'm hoping... what am I hoping? That depends on whether I'm feeling optimistic or pessimistic.<br />
<br />
In my wildest dreams, I see my parents, brothers, sister-in-laws, nieces and nephews all gathered at my parents' house, welcoming us with hugs and then all going inside to talk and laugh and cry and cook and eat (seperately - I'm not completely irrational!) and play music together for hours. Then 2 days later we come back to my parents house again, they welcome us in and my kids get to spend hours with their grandparents. We get to go out with them, and see the sights of their home-town. My parents come to the house we are renting and spend time with us there. We go to at least one of my brother's homes and the kids play with their cousins... and none of this is awkward, nothing gets said about the things that divide us and will continue to divide us for the rest of our lives, it is all easy, loving and fun.<br />
<br />
In my nightmares, we arrive at my parents' house, they let us in and make awkward conversation for half an hour, while my kids fight and break things, then my husband and my dad almost get into a fight about how stupid their rules are, and we leave. None of my brothers want to see us. Two days later we all try again, it goes a little better, the kids don't fight quite as much, we get to stay for an hour this time, and then we leave. The next day we go out to a park together, my parents complain that I am wearing men's clothing (jeans) and couldn't I have made an effort, and maybe grown my hair longer, and worn a scarf? I retaliate by asking how come cell phones and computers (two things that were so evil we weren't even allowed to touch them) are now absolutely fine and acceptable, and they hit back, asking if I don't care that my children are corrupted and probably bound for hell because I am bringing them up in 'the world'? I yell at them, we leave, and I cry a lot. We wonder why we wasted so much money on getting our hearts broken, when we could have gone to Fiji for a week instead.<br />
<br />
The reality is probably going to be somewhere between the two... hopefully closer to the 'wildest dreams' scenario than the nightmare! However well it goes, it will be hard, and stressful and heartbreaking.<br />
<br />
Is the welcome mat out? Well... I think I can see a corner of it.Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3754588318762796840.post-48722382189937621572014-03-14T01:58:00.000-07:002014-03-14T01:58:49.208-07:00Of beans and boysIt's autumn, and the days are getting cooler in the mornings. The light is changing... it seems richer. More concentrated, somehow. The leaves seem to collect the light and glow as if lit from within.<br />
The sky is clear and a deep blue, most days. We have had a couple of frosts, which my courgette plants have not appreciated, but the tomatoes are still soaking up the sun, and I am anticipating cooking up several more pots of tomato goodness, to be used in the cold days to come.<br />
<br />
We have some pumpkins nearly ready to harvest, and the apples are a week or so away from picking. Our runner beans are having a last flourish, and I should have picked some today before they grow too big overnight, but I ran out of time. Hopefully they'll make it into the fridge tomorrow, instead of having to go in the compost bin.<br />
<br />
Despite the effects of the frost, the courgettes are still producing, and I made a big batch of chocolate chip courgette cookies with my 4yr old today - they are delicious! Also, rather surprisingly, I think the sweetcorn will ripen before it gets too cold. It took so long to grow, that we weren't expecting to harvest anything from it, other than mini-cobs.<br />
<br />
I should plant leeks, and beetroot, and more carrots... but I probably won't. Life is too busy at the moment, so I think we'll put a layer of compost over the beds that we aren't using, and plant them with mustard seeds - they grow thick and fast, stopping weeds from growing.<br />
<br />
I'm enjoying the last of the warm weather, and the last of my time with my boy, before he goes off to school next year. 'Mummy, can we have special Jamie time now? he asks, several times each day. Sometimes I say yes, and then we play with playdough, or build a train-track, or do jigsaw puzzles, or play with the toy cars and trucks he's lined up on the floor. 'Mummy, you have to choose which characters you're going to have!', he reprimands me when I start playing with the first vehicle to hand, without putting any thought into my decision.<br />
<br />
I watch him - his big blue eyes so intent on what he's doing one minute, then crinkling up in a grin while he yells at the top of his lungs for no particular reason... He is so precious to me - my last boy, wild, energetic, snuggly, determined and strong. The other day we were chatting in the bathroom (as you do...) and he asked me 'Mummy, what would happen if I pushed this button?' pointing to a button on the toilet. 'I don't know, what do you think would happen?' 'Well...' he says, 'I think the toilet would keep filling up, higher and higher, and then fireworks would come out of the sky, and explode!' I said 'You should try it, next time, and see if it happens!'<br />
That's my boy - the world is so full of possibilities to him. A magical place, where if you push the right button, fireworks could come out of the sky! I love that about him.<br />
<br />
I love the way he hides under the sheets on my bed, and yells 'Mummy, say 'Where's Jamie?' I am then expected to wander round the bedroom for 10 minutes or so, discussing aloud all the places where he might be, trying to find him but never succeeding, while he giggles under the covers. The only problem is that I can never resist 'finding' him when I've had enough, and he has never yet been ready to be found. 'How do you always know where I am?' he asks me in puzzlement. 'How do you know it's me?' And I always tell him, that it's because he is my treasure, and I know him by heart. He loves that he's my treasure - he always has a happy little smile when I say it.Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12586462516199599089noreply@blogger.com0