CREATED

I've been blessed to have seen a great many 'things' in my life.  Things that men have created; breathtaking in scope.  Size, scale, medium - all of the things people with which people can fashion objects of awe.  I can wander in ruins from antiquity for hours and never get bored.  Standing in the presence of simple documents, penned as an impassioned stand for independence,  reduce me to tears.  That's not an exaggeration.  My husband had to pull me out of the National Archives because I was just weeping.  Unbeknownst to him, he dragged me right into the Magna Carta exhibit.  More tears.

Structures from Chicago to Florence have taken my breath away, and the elegance of engineering with ancient tools is the penultimate example of beauty.

I say penultimate because I have also witness the perfect example of beauty.  Walking adventures with my family have led us to perfection.  'Created by God' is the designer label.  One can mimic a cove, carved over millennia by pounding surf, but one can never truly duplicate.  No matter how many chemicals one pours into a cement pool, it cannot match the perfection of the ocean at it's most remote spot. 

I know many of you disagree with me about J.C. and the possibility of a divine entity - his existence, his worth, his .... well, everything.  But I think in my own heart, he's astonishing.  The beauty I see around me is better than anything that even my most talented artist friends can make (and they are wicked talented, believe me). I know He exists because I have seen the water and the cove in this photo.  I know He exists because of the little girl in that photo.  Who, upon seeing this water, looked up at me and smiled.  Like I've never seen her smile before.  Of my own merit, I wouldn't deserve to see that water.  And would never deserve that smile.  And yet I was shown both. 

So He exists, because I don't deserve the good I have been given.  And yet I keep getting good stuff every second.  And I am humbled by that.  Thank you, JC, for my every day.  

Marigolds

MARIGOLDS



Gardening, as a teenager, was a form of punishment in my world.  Go weed; that was the solution to myriad of misdeeds and nefarious activity.  While this may not seem like much, please note that my mom was the proud owner of a garden that was a full acre of land.  Google that if you aren't familiar.  An Acre.  This was coupled with the fact that during my teen years, I walked beans for a farmer (google that, too), so the last thing I wanted to do on my free time was get out in the dirt and pull even more weeds thankyouverymuch.You would think that, given all of this data, I would have been a child who required no punishment.  Knowing the punishment is the best form of behavior modification, right? (said no one who has actually met a human being before)

Plus, mom was 'organic' before 'organic' was a phrase.  We didn't use artificial anything.  Weeds were removed with fingers, not a convenient squeeze trigger containing toxic warfare.  Bugs and animals were kept at bay by a copious, ridiculous, inconceivable amount of Marigolds.  The Farmers Almanac (did you know they have a website? wicked cool.)  told mom that these stinky little flowers were the natural way to solve all of your light farming needs. Hysterical.

So it was roughly 187 degrees out one July in Illinois, and I was weeding.  No, I don't remember what I did wrong, but I'm fairly certain I'm innocent of all charges, fyi.  Anyway, I complain out loud about the crazy amount of stinky orange flowers EVERYWHERE.  Don't know why we have them in a vegetable garden anyway this is the biggest waste of my time and they probably cost to much to buy and no one likes them and it's so hot out here. 

She says to me "They are just like people, Heidi.  Marigolds are just like people.  You can dismiss them, if you like, but they have hidden blessings." Whatever like I need some deep morality lesson or peptalk stupid flowers are not people and I'm really hot out here.  "If you just treat them with decency, they will pay you back tenfold.  Just take care of them as much as you can, give them the basics and they will pay you back".  Whatever no plant will pay you back and they are not like people and it's still crazy hot out here.  "Look, look right here.  See this flower?  She's near the end.  She's old, a bit dried up and laying down on the ground. But I made sure she had what she needed, water, no weeds, space.  And now she's ready to give back.  I just did a little bit for her, and now she is going to give me tenfold what she has".  Whatever you don't get things back when you do things this is a ridiculous conversation and I'm really hot.

Mom takes the little old dead flower and rubs it a bit in her palm.  There, in her hand, were about 30 little black-tipped remnants of what the plant used to be.  "What does this look like to you?" And, of course, they were seeds.  She now had more than she needed to start more flowers, and store them for next year.  She hadn't bought flower in years, she just took care of that which she had been given and her acts were rewarded.

So there you have it.  Marigolds = people. I've seen it now, of course, many times over.  When I am completely exhausted and don't think I have the heart to talk to one more person about their new diagnosis- coach a friend on what cancer feels like-can't muster the heartache that will come after talking to a husband about his dying wife - I do it.  I do it because Mom told me that if you do the smallest things, they can grow to become even bigger good things.  Paying it forward is something for which I strive every day.

And this photo?  It's my sons hand.  He goes to the garden every day.  He looks for the old, dried Marigolds that have spent their wee lives keeping away animals and insects, and gently rubs them on his palms.  He keeps the seeds in little packets for next year. And his grandma is smiling at him, I just know it. 

ps.  It's still really hot outside.  :)

WORK

All the time.  That's the only way to describe the frequency of questions I get about getting involved in charity work.  It is quite an unusual thing, this kind of discussion.  How to give, to whom, how much, what kind of time frame, the list is amusing.  I just shared these sentiments this week, and realized I wanted to get them in writing, and share with all of you.  Add, subtract and edit as you see fit.

You have expressed an interest in helping out. Doing a good dead, lending a hand.  This could be a five minute thing - getting a restaurant gift card for a homeless person. This could be a twenty five year thing - getting involved in a charity.  All of it will be hard. 

• It will take time from your life, precious and irretrievable. 
• It will take money from your wallet, potentially more than you think you can spare. 
• You will cry.  It will surprise you how much you will cry.
• It might seem easy, but it will not be. 
• You will be astonished with the number of obstacles in your way when you try to just do something nice.
• There might be a time that you can't enter a conversation, a building or a gathering without seeing opportuinty to help others.
• You will cry.  It will stop surprising you, this crying.
• There will be astonishment in your voice when you speak to someone who doesn't know about your charity.
• Everything from your clothes to your food will become fodder to help others.
• Your phone will ring at 2 am with requests, and very well might become a regular occurrence.
• You will cry.  You will accept this; it's part of who you become.

In other words, helping other people is very hard on your heart.  Your soul.  Your mind.  Your body.  Your family.  Your whole world. 

In other words, it's the best thing you can do.  Go, change your heart.

Lights

I have a prescription for a medicine called 'femara'. It's purpose is to keep cancer in its place and not to have free reign to move about my body willy-nilly. The side effects of femara are an interesting mix of terror and humor (well, to me, anyway. For example: memory loss? Really, femara? After the real deal chemotherapy memory loss I laugh at your attempt to erase what's left...wait, what were we talking about?...) but there are times that I find myself whining about taking it.

I join my fellow humans on the modern version of the wailing wall; Facebook. Boo hoo, I have to take medicine. So I turn to a couple of sweetie pies I know who have never, in my presence, complained. About anything.

This is a remarkable statement, but let me tell you a bit more. They are in the midst of cancer; the blondie actually has a treatment called 'cyberknife'. COME ON, who made up that name, Stephen King? Cyberknife?

But look at these gals. Look! Smiling, cute, totally ready to take it all on! So I have their photos up today to remind myself to shut.it. when I get whiny. If they are so darned perky and cool and superhero-ish, I can most certainly take some pills. Wait, did I say that already? Has anyone seen my memory around here anywhere? :)

Birth

This is the life story thus far of my seven year old son, in his own words.

Editor/mommy's note: Hey, cancer -YOU LOSE! Every day, every hour, every minute. The end.

My mom and dad had 3 children. My mom was pregnant. She was going to have me. While my mom went to the hospital she had cancer. My mom got scared. She got toxic medicine. I survived. The medicine worked. Not all the way, but she takes a little medicine. It tastes way better. The end.

OLYMPIC!

As I'm sure you know, about 776 BC, a naked chef (truly naked, as in 'without clothing', not as in 'Jamie Oliver') named Coroebus took a run in what would be the first recorded Olympic games. His likeness is above. To this day, I have never seen a jersey with "Coroebus" on the back, and that's a darned shame. Of course, that sassy Heracles was supposed to have started it quite some time before that.  But I digress!

There are a myriad of athletes who have shared similar battles - on and off the field of competition. Did you know, fellow cancer warriors, that the following people have had cancer just like you and I? Please let me know who else should be added to the list; I know I've missed a few!  For your convenience, I've put them in order of cute haircut:


Dorothy Hamill
Eric Shanteau
Shannon Miller 

Lillian Board
Natalya Tsupikova
Michael Milton
Gabriele Anderson
Scott Hamilton

If you know me at all, you know I adore Scott Hamilton.  Were the list in order of anything else, he would be at the top.  Sorry, Scott.  :-D

So please chime in, tell me who else is should be on the list - and in what order! 

WITNESS

Toward the end of her life, my mother was confined to a hospital bed.  In and out of consciousness, her cancer had left her in a state of constant pain that was being 'handled' by endless medication.  She did have, however, moments of absolute clarity. 

Roberta Staib was not a pushy woman.  I would be hard-pressed to find someone who would have ever used that term to describe her.  This included matters of her faith.  She was a firm believer.  Firm.  HOWEVER - she respected the faith of others as well.  I knew that she had heard of a new faith practice when I would find her reading volumes about it.  Her thought was that education leads to clarity, period.  If you meet someone who had beliefs outside of your own, then read.  Read as much and as often as you can about that belief, so that you can a) engage in actual, respectful dialog b) not be a jerk.

She was a Christian.  Not in the 'we must absolutely adhere to every single ritual that some guys dictated in the 1500's' but a CHRISTIAN in the truest sense of the word.  Here is why I can say this with certainty:

1) We always had a place at the table for those in need. And not just those who owned less then we did, but for the people who were lonely, or far from home.  Many nights I would come home from high school and there would be a room full of sailors that my brother had brought home from boot camp; their homes were too far and they all just wanted a good, home cooked meal. 
2) She may have disapproved of certain lifestyles, but she never disapproved of PEOPLE.  Everyone deserves a kind conversation.  The one exception: if you hurt children, you were not welcome in her life.  Period.
3) She talked about Jesus like he was God.  :)  (that was meant to be funny, and JC is good with it.  I checked.) When she shared her translation of Jesus from her bible, it was the Jesus who loved little kids, his mama, the destitute, the underserved, the population of people who's hearts ache continuously. The cruel, harsh watchdog that some people like to showcase as god never made it in her house.  Her, and therefore our, God loved everyone and just really wanted them to behave.
4) I never heard her say anything mean about anyone.  There were people that acted poorly in her life, believe me.  But she never lashed out, not that I ever saw or heard.
5) Children mattered, so did women.  She got that right from the New Testament.  If someone tells you otherwise, she told me, they are not Christian people. They are probably not even nice people.  Avoid them at all costs, pure and simple.

So that's it, to me. That is a true witness of what God is, and what God means to me.  To her, to me and hopefully to my children, God = Love.  Period.