Callouses

cal·lous [kal-uhs]
1. made hard; hardened.
2. insensitive; indifferent; unsympathetic: "They have a callous attitude toward the sufferings of others."
3. having a callus; indurated, as parts of the skin exposed to friction.

The hardening of the skin is inevitable: handle the tool long enough, work enough hours with it, and your hand will shape to it, the dense patches of yellow skin forming a glove for that tool, that work.  First, the pain as skin pulls, fluid collects in the little blister there where the rub is, it bursts open and bathes your hand in the white fire of exposed flesh.  You keep swinging, and the burn becomes an ache, and then fades to nothing, and in a few days you pick up the tool and find that your hand likes this shape.  Remembers this shape.  Is made for this shape.

You can stall a good thing, pretty early in the game.  Toss the tool aside when the blister pops.  If you leave the work, walk away in a huff, it is your soul that grows a callous instead, a selfish callous, a callous on the heart that shirks pain for an easier path.  And every time you pick up the tool and set to work again, days later, the pain returns, the fire-brand pain of a tender layer of skin that has never grown into this work.

There are parts of my soul that have done this work before, the work of suffering physically and spiritually at the same time.  I go back to this work and find that there is a callous, that I am prepared, ready, and able for this task.  I am reminded that I carry not only the life of Christ in my soul, but also the death. (II Corinthians 4 again...we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.)

Let me die quickly to self in this matter, as in all others.  Let me shoulder the work at hand without frustration, lethargy, paralysis of the spirit or the hands as I am called into battle.  Give me strength for this round, God.  I am in the part of the match where I'm almost praying someone knocks me out.  Help me to stay present in this day, this week, this situation, this life.  Help me accept it as a gift from you, God...despite the pain of today and the pain looming large tomorrow.

I am reminded, by the words of an old hymn echoing in my synapses, that you have not forsaken me, and that your grace is shown for it's glorious perfection when I am weak and tired.

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father;

There is no shadow of turning with Thee;

Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not;

As Thou hast been, Thou forever will be.

Great is Thy faithfulness!

Great is Thy faithfulness!

Morning by morning new mercies I see.

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided;

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth

Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,

Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

~ Great is Thy Faithfulness, Thomas Chisholm, 1923 ~

Fashion plates

I found them at a garage sale...and was transported, instantly, to my friend Erica's yellow farmhouse, the fertile must of the cows, the murmur of machinery, the hot, stifled air of the piano room at the front of the house. I never had this toy, myself. But she did...and I think she was rather confused by my interest in it as the fascination, for her, had long ago worn off. The quick and easy perfection of your creation as you slid the wax stick over the raised fashion plate, the hours you could spend coloring in your own combinations of dresses, pants, tops, hair styles, accessories...I was smitten! It seems funny to me now, looking back at my childhood, which was mostly a story of sports, outdoors, tomboyishness - those fashion plates, and my dozen or so baby dolls, were the feminine moment.

Rosy, of course, loves them. We've had a few half-sunny/half-rainy days since my surgery, and the air is cold and dank. So we are huddled inside, mostly. I am in pain, and curled in bed with books for the most part. The kids all have a head cold, and they've been pretty content with quiet activities. I think we are settling in to the news that summer is going to be different than we had thought. Settling into the goodness of it, and getting a feel for the different sort of work it will be. I can't just be idle...either in my humanness or in my faith. I am just not wired that way. Aaron and I are busy discussing the grand possibilities of the non-cancer life: work? School? Summer vacation? All seem possible again. We step - tentatively now - forward. So many times we have thought the carpet was finally still beneath our feet, only to have it yanked out in a new and unexpected direction.

Days of quietness are unequivocally the gift of God. I praise Him for these past few. I find it interesting that themes of "peace" and "quietness" are often given a feminine slant, like this in Isaiah 32, to the women of Israel:

The fruit of righteousness will be peace; the effect of righteousness will be quietness and confidence forever. [wow - imagine that forever!] My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest. Though hail flattens the forest and the city is leveled completely, how blessed you will be, sowing your seed by every stream, and letting your cattle and donkeys range free. (verses 17-20)

My burning bush

Blessed is the man

who walks not in the counsel of the ungodly,

nor stands in the path of sinners,

nor sits in the seat of the scornful;

but his delight is in the law of the Lord,

and in His law he meditates day and night.

He shall be like a tree

planted by the rivers of water,

hat brings forth its fruit in its season,

whose leaf also shall not wither;

and whatever he does shall prosper.

~ Psalm 1 ~

Across the road, down the valley, where the trees grow tall next the little silver thread of Big Elk Creek, there is one lone birch that shimmers every evening in the sunset. Through March and April, this tree of diamonds delights my soul every day as I go through the hard work of keeping children content and cooking dinner, all at the same time. It is by far the most difficult hour of the day for me as a young mother. Yet, in these muddy months where there is little of beauty or refreshment on the spring horizon, God has lit up one tree like a jewel to bring me joy.

He says that His mercies never fail. By His mercy, we are not consumed. (Lamentations 3:22) To the ancient Jews, this probably meant something wholly different than it does to me today: then, it meant deliverance from armed enemies, food provided to the family table during a drought, safe passage to new grazing grounds. Because I have food on my table, a fully-equipped medical world at my disposal, a large house in which to live, no enemies at my doorstep...many would argue that I am no danger of being consumed by anything. But every day that danger lurks...through the difficult dinner hour, when I would much rather blunt my children's senses with a movie instead of conversing with them in their tired and hungry state. Depression, complacence, despair, irritation, over-scheduling, drifting through life, lowering my expectations. Those are the enemies that threaten to consume me as a 21st century Christian housewife and mother.

Many years have passed since those summer days

Among the fields of barley

See the children run as the sun goes down

Among the fields of gold

You'll remember me when the west wind moves

Upon the fields of barley

You can tell the sun in his jealous sky

That we walked in fields of gold

~ Fields of Gold, Sting ~

The whole field of corn husks in front of my birch tree sparkle as if you dropped nuggets of gold there. Just husks. Lit by sun. Somehow strangely beautiful. This is one of those visions of glory in our everyday world vista that plucks the heartstrings, and they vibrate to a bittersweet melody of joy that is so sweet it aches. Somehow this vision condenses for me all that has happened in my life:

friendships ruined,

heart failing, somehow healing,

hugging children who were dying,

feeling their last months soak into my soul like honey;

marrying my best friend,

birthing babies,

that painful, joyful metamorphosis of body and soul;

cancer, the cutting of surgery,

the years of living with it's specter;

baby girl slipping away,

baby girl coming home,

baby girl forever different;

another spring.

A glittering field.

A thousand sorrows;

a million joys.

Through it all, serving a Savior who takes my husks and turns them into glittering gold. A God who takes the last bit of my strength, energy, willingness, and infuses me with this sudden, thundering thing of beauty that lights up my kitchen night after night. The God who speaks through a burning bush, and tells me He is still there...and no, He is never silent.

My soul breathes deep

Whew. A deep breath for the soul, and the body. Cancer de-saturates life. Everything gets a little pale as you struggle through the current of ongoing trials. And then God is merciful, and your soul breathes in deep and expands, and you remember how colorful and vibrant life really is. What a gift it is.

I read this verse in Jeremiah yesterday, and it echoes the constant cry of my heart since June 2008. When I really look deep into my heart, I see the blackness there, the many ways I've hurt others, or disappointed them, or gone back on my word; the selfishness and anger and disinterest and pride that eats out from the center. I know God sees it, even clearer through Holy eyes. Correct me, O Lord, but in justice; not in your anger lest you bring me to nothing. (Jeremiah 10:24)

He corrects me - but in justice. Not in His anger. I am not brought to nothing. I am here, vacationing in Wisconsin Dells with some of my best friends in the world. I breathed in as much air as my lungs could hold just in case I drowned on a thrilling ride called "The Toilet Plunge". Hilarious that I begged more that my life be spared on that ride than before I enter surgery! I really thought it was in danger - in the next few seconds! Luckily, they hire some decent engineers when they decide to flush people down gigantic toilets. Then a lovely dinner, delivered by train, with Thomas the Tank Engine on the big screen. The first time in months I haven't had to wrestle my son to keep him in his seat for an entire meal. And finally, an icy wind blowing Ali and I across a ski hill on our snowboards. Discovering that snowboarding is truly "like riding a bike" was priceless. So much in my life has changed, it makes me ever more thankful when I discover something that hasn't. I still love the crunch and swoosh of the snow away from my board as I glide through high-speed S-curves all the way down the hill. The thrill of teaching someone to love it is just the same, too.

What a wonderful week! God is so good to me.

When He sustained me

In the midst of another season of hurts, I am reminded continually that there are many hurts greater than those I bear today. I thank God for offering perspective on my life (vibrant, full, joyful, entertaining, beautiful) and my suffering (bruising, buffeting, confusing, exhausting).


Aaron and I continued a pregnancy nearly 3 1/2 years ago after receiving a poor prenatal prognosis after ultrasound. Our unborn daughter was diagnosed with spina bifida, myelomeningocele, and Arnold-Chiari malformation at an 18 week ultrasound. My alpha fetoprotein levels were also abnormally high. We were urged to go through with an abortion that very day, as we were just 1 1/2 weeks from the cutoff date for an "easy" abortion. We adamantly refused. At 24 weeks, our daughter was found to be perfectly healthy via a level 2 ultrasound at Mayo Clinic. This couple walked a different, harder, road. But made the same courageous choice. And oh, what we both would have missed if we had chosen otherwise! They would have missed 5 days of glory with their beautiful son, I would have missed 3 years with the precocious, flamboyant, sticks-like-glue love of Amelia Irene.

Strands of gold

The law of the LORD is perfect, converting the soul: the testimony of the LORD is sure, making wise the simple. The statutes of the LORD are right, rejoicing the heart: the commandment of the LORD is pure, enlightening the eyes. The fear of the LORD is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of the LORD are true and righteous altogether. More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb. Moreover by them is thy servant warned: and in keeping of them there is great reward. ~ Psalm 19:7-11 KJV


God has completely provided for me this week. I remember my mother using that phrase when I was a teenager: I was always embarrassed when she said it, because it seemed so...well, unknowable. Years of experience walking beside and occasionally walking away from God's presence have finally taught me otherwise. Sometimes God moves like a whisper of a summer breeze through the rhythms of my day. Sometimes He is as obvious in His love and provision as a brilliant red and gold summer sunset, as thunderous as the rush of summer storms flying in on the wind from the west, the tide of the wind met with the deafening hum of cicadas and katydids mounting their collective voice in protest of the interruption.

This week has been a week when God thundered through my days. School work easily accomplished, housework coming along slowly, pleasure woven through my work, even calm enjoyment during a day of sickness with Amelia. Awareness is dawning in my conscience: the special season of prayer that precedes hormone withdrawal, scans and treatments brings with a swell in the tide of God's love and grace. I pray all the more, and He provides all the more. When the world says I should be lying in bed, wasted and sick from lack of a necessary hormone, He fills in my gaps and lifts me up with sheer strength that gives me a glimpse into an unbelievably deep reserve of power.

Today I am floating along on the crest of that sunlit way of God's provision. Basking in the glow. Enjoying every minute, every unexpected strand of gold woven through this life.

Ebb & flow

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak...Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4, 6-7 KJV

I have received a lot of extra hugs, phone calls and e-mails of love and reassurance since my last post. This community of friends and family God has placed me in amazes me continually as I walk this path. At every turn, I am greeted by a friend offering something that blesses me and heals me in a special way. All of you are such an important part of living - that glorious experience, a free gift to each of us, infinitely sacred and beautiful. I think of the things that are beautiful: oil paintings, photographs, quilts, old hand-hewn furniture and tools, antique machines of all kinds, certain colors, textures, plants, sounds, and smells. All these are just snapshots of a beautiful, panoramic, constantly changing landscape of life. It is the complicated and beautiful nature of my life that makes it so difficult to give up as it is today. It is like taking my most treasured possession...that thing that I value and guard and keep in a secret place...and handing it over, palms up, eyes closed, not wanting to see the moment in which it could be taken from me. Putting on vulnerability as a garment, with humbleness and faith and dignity.

It comes and goes, this grief over loss. It is not constant, but washes in and out in waves, with lulls in between that are so peaceful. It feels natural, organic. Merciful. Quiet.

Lost in the details

Christmas pageant practice: kids sang (mother breathed, "Hallelujah!" under her breath).

Walmart on a Saturday just prior to Christmas: kids walked single file (mom silently rejoiced, "We survived!").

Hanging Christmas lights using dinky plastic hooks: kids played in snow, husband frustrated (wife wondering, "Why did I suggest this?").

We came in covered with snow, bedraggled and tired from the fresh air and a day too full. The toddler began screaming because her socks were on crooked. I lost my temper, and spat out a warning to stop fussing through gritted teeth, the whites of my eyes showing. She banged her little body down on the couch, intimidated and angered. I retreated to my room, the howls of three children echoing behind me.

The black arms of the trees against the winter sky whisper reproach. I approach the Throne tentatively. I hear the toddler stop crying, and come wandering through the house, quietly saying, "I done fussin', Mama". My heart melts. I open the door.

After I beg forgiveness, we lay on the bed, cuddled up, looking at the trees. We talk about the nativity we just put up, about Jesus, dying on the cross to forgive us as Amelia just forgave me. She giggles, then says, "I have buggers, Mama". I try to continue the lesson, buggers notwithstanding...to no avail. Every little lesson I sally forth is met with, "I have buggers, Mama". And I think, this is me! This is what I approach my Father with. He offers forgiveness, and I am more concerned about my buggers! I am the toddler tentatively walking through the halls of heaven, saying, "I done fussin', Papa."

I better grow up soon!

His grace is enough

For who is God besides the LORD ? And who is the Rock except our God?
It is God who arms me with strength and makes my way perfect.
He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; he enables me to stand on the heights.
You give me your shield of victory, and your right hand sustains me;
you stoop down to make me great.
You broaden the path beneath me, so that my ankles do not turn..
he shows unfailing kindness to his anointed...
~ Psalm 18 (exc.)

How humbling to at the epicenter of a miracle. I was told by all of my doctors that I would be bed-ridden by this point in my treatment. I was told to cancel school, work, and anything outside the home for the final week of my hypothyroid period. My thyroid is gone, and with it an essential string of hormones that are necessary for human metabolism. In short, every cell in my body is currently starving for an essential component of metabolism. On a cellular level, there is no organ or body system that is functioning normally - theoretically. As soon as I knew that I was going to require the radioactive iodine, I prayed that God would choose to sustain me through what seemed like an insurmountable trial, one that could easily land me in the hospital. The specialist at Mayo wished to proactively hospitalize me for the entire second week of my hypothyroid period.

What doctors don't understand is that I am not simply a sum of my cellular parts. I was created from dust - life breathed into me as a single cell by God's choice and His infinite wisdom and grace. Through a series of miracles we think of scientifically as conception and implantation, the cell that was the beginning of me was fostered and grew entirely on it's own, without blood or circulation, oxygen or exogenous protein source. I was sustained by a beautiful, complicated mystery - God's decision put me in motion and keeps me in motion. He is not limited by hormones, or cellular metabolism; He holds the keys to life and death. (Rev. 1:18)

The cynic in me knows that I may find out at the end of this that it was a tumor that was sustaining me through this period: if active cancer is present, it may be producing hormones that replace the hormones my thyroid used to make. I choose to have faith, for right now, that God is intervening and keeping my wheels turning through this starvation period. "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. (I Corinthians 12:9)

Great is Your love and justice God
You use the weak to lead the strong
You lead us in the song of Your salvation
And all Your people sing along

So remember Your people
Remember Your children
Remember Your promise
Oh God

Your grace is enough
Your grace is enough
Your grace is enough for me
~ Chris Tomlin, Your Grace is Enough