Thursday, June 14, 7:15 a.m. The storm has turned the highway into a river. White-knuckled and blinded by the pounding rain on my windshield, I want to be anywhere but here. I pray for the rain to stop. This is what fear feels like. Friday, June 15, 8:15 a.m. My stagnant little creek bed has turned into a soothing babbling brook. I sit on the makeshift wooden bridge, my feet dangling above the sand and rocks. This is exactly where I want to be. I thank God for the beauty. This is what peace feels like. I have a million…
I seldom fear cancer will come back. I’ve read the stats, and I know that because I found my tumor early, my chances of another bout with it are very slim. And aside from the fact that I tend to write about cancerish things a lot, it’s a rare day that cancer thoughts overwhelm me. But every once in a while I’m caught completely off guard by deep despairing sadness or unrelenting unsubstantiated fear. Monday was one of those days. I found myself baking (what? I don’t bake) and dripping tears in the cookie dough while Tim McGraw sang…
Given a choice between the hard things and the easy things, I’d pick easy. But sometimes God doesn’t let me choose. One year ago today Corey and I faced a really hard thing. A 5-hour surgery to remove my cancer and my breasts. I remember it with an ache in my heart. But right beside that ache there is joy. JOY. Because God is good and the giver of the good things. Even in the wake of bilateral mastectomies and reconstruction. The good thing of experiencing peace that passes all understanding deep down into my bones as I was poked, prodded,…