A Moving Walk for Cancer

This past weekend was a fast, fun and emotional few days for our family.  Some of the girl cousins decided the females in our family should all walk in the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer Walk in St Louis.  We made shirts and plans, and the Cincinnati gals caravanned over Friday night.  We met at Starbucks at 6:45am the morning of the walk and headed over to Forest Park to join thousands of other participants who had all donated their money, time and bodies to help wipe out cancer.


Cancer is a formidable opponent.  I lost one sister to cancer, and am SO grateful another sister is now cancer-free after a hugely courageous battle.  I felt so proud of her when all of us walked through the finish line arm-in-arm, symbolic of her own finish line just weeks before.  It was bittersweet to be sad and angry that she had to go through the shock, fear, surgery, chemo, radiation, pain, more fear, anger, and eventual submission and resolve, but at the same time, I felt happy that she made it through and at least had the chance to fight it.  Gloria never had that chance. 


Walking up the final hill with Janet was one of the most special sister memories for me.  She tried her best to tell me about her new perspective on life and what it felt like to have had so much support by so many people throughout her journey this past year.  We both knew I couldn't fully appreciate exactly how she was feeling, and that made me sad too.  For me, one of the very best things about having sisters is that deep understanding that they get you.  Whether you're crabbing about your husband, your kids, the IRS or the lines at Walmart, or telling about a deeply spiritual experience you've had, or just describing the sunset, you know that your sister is really listening and gets what you're saying at the same deep place of practically being there herself... like another version of yourself to share it with.  Exponential empathy.  Some times you just need someone to verify you. 

And in that moment on that hill, here she was, my little sister, my forever sidekick, the one who always waited for me to pave the way, to go first, to make it safe for her.. here she was telling me about the hardest, most scary and painful part of her life, and I couldn't fully get her.  I couldn't be at that same deep place of practically being there myself.  I couldn't verify her.  I could only be honored that she dared to speak of it with me.  And we cried.

And later that day when she took off her hat and I saw her six-month old hair growing in again at 54, I had one of those moments when life stops and everything freezes except your thoughts.  And I took it all in.  I went back to all of our growing up years, our college years, our mothering years, and now our grandmothering years.  I went back to so many laughs, and the blissful, contented hours we spend each year on our boat watching the sunset or rocking to the oldies at the beach house.  I took in once more her silent strength and her backstage wit she seems to have passed on to my middle daughter.  And I thought of all the ages and stages that have been her, that were all together present in her during her struggle with cancer.  And I was thankful she had the chance to have the new perspective she spoke of.  And I was grateful for her gratitude.  And I was mindful she, for once, had paved the way for me.. she had gone first and made it safe for me.  And I am certain that someday if I need her, she will verify me. 
I love you, Sis.  You are a hero to me.   

The Perfect Patch

Last weekend I had the first "Sunday dinner at Gigi's" in way too long. It felt good to return to one of my favorite things, and it was actually quite tasty (except for carving the pork roast a tad too early which made it a little dry by the time we ate - boo). The next day I offered the leftovers to Shannah for their dinner but forgot to include the rolls, rendering it not so much a full meal deal. So of course I delivered said rolls, whereupon I found out Berkley had gone home with Savannah after school. This conveniently allowed Grayson to plea bargain for getting out of the house himself and going out with me for dinner.


On the way he showed me where his "favorite" jeans had split at the knees and were now tattered and frayed... just the way boys like them. The school dress code mandates other ideas, however, which his teacher reminded him of earlier that day. So naturally I did what any good grandmother would do. I promptly made an illegal u-turn and whipped into the local fabric store, knowing I had just enough time to save this poor child and his favorite jeans from the wrath of a too-strict dress code, an out-of-touch teacher and a glaring-eyed principle. (Boys can be dramatic, too.) Our quiet dinner out was reduced to driving through Arby's, and patching the jeans now became the ultimate goal.


Now it's not often a 10 year old boy likes to go to the fabric store, but this is the second or third time I've had Gray in one, and his creative little self actually likes it! The last time we were there we bought NFL Colts fabric to make him a shirt for some crazy fun day for spirit week at his school. I will tell you he had a million and one ideas of how this simple jersey should be designed. We had cottons and quilteds and nylons and prints and solids and all kinds of goodies at the cutting table. So of course, finding just the right denim for knee patches would be equally thrilling. We settled on the perfect color and weight denim, but would also back it with a padding for strength. His idea, of course!


The patching went off without a hitch. We decided on patching from underneath to leave the cool factor of the frayed split on the outside. This led to a discussion of whether this would meet the expected standard of the dress code, the old "intent of the law" discussion. Was it the actual split with knees showing they objected to, or the raggedy fray? It mattered because we were leaving the raggedy fray (though we did clip off the best part of any denim frayness - the uber cool white strings.) I wanted to be a hip Grandma, but I sure didn't want to get the kid in trouble! During the discussion he showed his too-old-for-his-age sense of humor (which he inherited from his Mother and his Papaw), when he regretted not thinking to buy skin-colored fabric to patch underneath the split. Hilarious. Risky, but hilarious.


It was a cherished one-on-one evening just patching his favorite jeans, eating Arby's (I told him it would be broccoli next time), and pouring what love I could into my favorite fourth-grader's heart. I also got him home an hour early, and left him with one final teachable moment about building curfew trust with his parents for those future requests to party with his high-school buddies. You know, those Bible Study parties. Love that boy!

So, Here's the Thing, We're non-Begging Beggars

Thanks to all of you who have shared your stories of how you found Joy after a difficult season in your life. Keep sending them in; I love hearing them, and there is plenty of room for more!

Here's one of the things I and my walking buddy have been talking about recently.  See if you agree.  I mentioned in my blog while I was in India that what always strikes me when I'm there is how completely desperate the women there are for God.  When they ask you to pray for them, they prize those prayers as if they were the highest payment, the most valuable gem in the world.  When they pray together (something we often feel uncomfortable doing here, or at least don't typically practice regularly), there it sounds like stepping out of a soundproof booth into a sports arena.  It's deafening. 

We aren't desperate for God here.  We barely need him.  At least we act like we don't.  We certainly aren't without struggles, though.  We all face them.  Our lives seem to be about trying to get through the latest turmoil or trying to get ahead financially.  "If I can just hang in there until this is over, then I can rest."  Or "If we can make it til the end of the year bonus, we can pay off these debts."  But we always want more.  We're seldom satisfied.  Enough is never enough.  Too much is not even enough!  We aren't always the happiest people around either.  We are depressed, overworked, exhausted, angry whiners and complainers.  I mean we cover it well, of course.  We don't want people to KNOW we're depressed, angry whiners and complainers.  (Being overworked and exhausted seems to be OK for people to know.)  And we do pray about these things.  We go to therapy or a financial counselor.  We read books and go to Bible Studies and seminars.  And sometimes we find some help.  Mostly though, it seems we find new ways to cope.  New strategies to try.  New ways of looking at things.  And therapy can be good!  Financial counseling can be good!  Bible Studies and seminars and books can be good!  We actually need all the help we can get, right?

I am a trained as a Christian Counselor and I believe strongly in emotional and mental health, and I know that God uses many means for our help and healing. Absolutely He uses therapy and books and seminars and His word and nature and conversations with friends, and a host of other ways to speak to us and guide us. But why aren't there more endings to problems? Why aren't there more people being set free? Why aren't we experiencing more real and lasting change? Where in my life does God desire more for me than for me to just "feeling my feelings" when I am troubled and I automatically turn to other means of coping?

So here's the thing.  If the God we serve is the Healer and the Counselor, why do we continue to stay more wrapped up in our problems and our sicknesses than we are about what HE wants for our lives?  Or put another way; Where is the healing?  Where is the help?  Addictions are growing at a faster rate, affecting a greater and more diverse cross-section of our world than ever before.  More marriages are breaking up than ever before.  More children are left to bear the scars into adulthood of their unstable families of origin than ever before.  And we are Christians!  Where is God in our lives?  Where is His changing power?  How is He making a difference?  How are our lives any different than those who don't profess a relationship with God? 

I like the phrase "Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven."  It's so true.  We certainly are far from perfect.  But it can also be a cop-out that means, don't judge me me, don't hold me to any standard, don't watch my life, don't expect anything from me.   So my new favorite phrase is "Beggars showing other beggars where to find Bread" (differing opinions on sourcing that one,  often incorrectly attributed to Martin Luther, possibly D.T. Niles; so I'm going with Anonymous.) 

I love that I came to a place where I realized, although I was raised with an unspoken "Us" vs. "Them" mentality, that we are ALL "Them"!  We are all beggars!  We are all hopelessly lost in our sins, our struggles, our addictions, our pride, and ourselves, really.  Of course I have capitalized the B in 'Bread' to mean the Living Christ, the Bread of Life, the only true nourishment for our souls and our lives and our problems.  The only One out there who can actually SAVE us from ourselves and our messed up ways.  And I have changed the 'telling' to 'showing', because I like the idea of walking alongside someone and bringing them to the One who is the answer for all their problems.  I am, after all, a counselor, who should be walking alongside, not merely telling.  "Beggars showing other beggars where to find Bread".  Awesome.

But even with that being my favorite phrase and something to aspire to, it doesn't seem we are as desperate as beggars.  It doesn't seem the Bread is really filling and really nourishing us when we do find it.  Perhaps it is difficult for me to see it since I, and many of my friends, have been raised in the church, and our lives haven't been dramatically changed.  I've loved Jesus for as long as I can remember.  But shouldn't that be all the more reason to know how desperate I am for him?  How desperate my life would be without Him?  Wouldn't I be a pro by now at having Him help me with my struggles?  Shouldn't there BE a difference in my life? 



So I have begun praying for God to show me where I am desperate for Him.  "Where do I need you most, God, and don't even know it?"  Where is it that my soul hungers and thirsts for you?"  "Where am I filling myself with busyness or pride or folly or food or apathy instead of coming to you and letting you fill me?" 

I'll let you know what He says.  Maybe.

 

Are you a Success Story?

I'm wondering how many of you out there consider yourselves success stories?  I know it's hard to give ourselves so much credit sometimes, but I know many of you have really suffered through some tough things in life, and come out a better person because of it, and I'm interested in your story.  Perhaps you've been through a divorce, have navigated life as a single mom, suffered through a spouse's infidelity, experienced the heartache of infertility, lost a spouse or a child, struggled with an addiction, lived through cancer, managed a long-term illness or physical challenge, or even been a caretaker for someone else who has struggled through a lengthy, difficult situation.

I'm writing a book on what it takes to put the joy back into our lives after such long, stressful chapters of our lives seem to change who we are and rob of us joy.  Did you find yourself pulling back from people and activities that once were an important part of your life?  Did you find that your confidence dipped and caused you to avoid involving yourself in areas you formerly felt so competent?  Did you stop singing or dancing or painting or enjoying some other creative outlet just because the joy was gone and there was really no point?  If any of these sound familiar to you, I'd love to know exactly how you made the decision to change.  What made you decide not to settle for the dull, lifeless existence that had become this new you?  How did you manage to open yourself back up again, and how did you go about doing that?  What steps did you take to bring the joy back?

If you are willing to take a few minutes and share the answers to these questions, please leave a comment on the blog, or email me at pfrenchmo@gmail.com.  If I use any of your experiences, your name will not be used, and the details of your story will be changed, unless you give permission for your first name to be included.  Feel free to share this with anyone you think may also have an idea of how to bring back the joy trauma and difficulty have stolen from their lives.

Thanks!  I look forward to hearing from you!