The fortune teller

The county fair just left Coweta county. I had planned to go this year, but that was before I got cancer. I love fairs! I love the sights and the sounds...the people, the lights, the smells, the energy. Fairs are fun and exciting. I can be a kid again at the fair.

When I was a child, I remember going to the Southeastern Fair every year when it came to town. I always went with my next door neighbor. Her family was kind enough to invite me to go with them. Mama and Daddy always managed to sacrifice a few dollars for me to buy a bag of popcorn, get some cotton candy, or ride a few rides. Melinda and I were so giggly and silly riding in the back seat of her Mother's station wagon. We couldn't wait to go through the house of mirrors or the haunted house. We loved crashing into each other in the bumper cars. We were ecstatic that in just a short time, we'd be entering the fair grounds, buying a long row of tickets and waving goodbye to her Mother.

I'll never forget one year in particular when we went to the fair. I don't remember all the details of how we ended up there, but we found ourselves sitting at the fortune teller's table as she read our palms. Melinda went first and I have no idea what the fortune teller told her, but when it came time for me, I remember distinctly what she said. I must have been about 10 years old at the time. I know I was impressionable and very naive. I hadn't experienced the world yet. The fortune teller was a woman around her early 60s. More than likely she was a gypsy woman because her mannerisms, speech, looks, and everything about her pointed in that direction. We sat at a round table in a dimly lit area. If I'm not mistaken there was a candle on the table because I remember a faintly glowing light. The old woman asked me to give her my hand. As she reached across the table, I timidly stuck out my arm. She took my arm and twisted it over gently so my palm was facing up. She peered into my hand and began to trace the lines with her fingertip. "Do you see this line?" she said in a gruff voice, "this line represents your life. It is called your life line." I leaned in close and looked with her at the palm of my hand. "Do you see how the line stops in the middle of your hand?" I looked and saw that the line curved slightly and stopped almost in the dead center of my hand. "That means you have a short life line. That means you won't live very long." When she said that, I remember feeling extreme dread. I was suddenly scared! She continued holding my hand and said, "I see 56 years. I see 56 years of life." Well, for a 10 year old, that seemed like a pretty long time, but still...I had planned to live a lot longer than 56 years! I don't remember us staying at the table with her after she said that. I'm pretty sure, I jumped up and couldn't wait to get away from there. I'll never forget that day. I never told anyone about what the fortune teller had told me.

Now I know you're thinking I'm being really superstitious, but keep reading and let me tie this together. I'm not a believer in black magic, the occult or any kind of sorcery. I'm a Christian and I know that only God knows the number of days He's allotted to me on this earth. I'm using the fortune teller to help you understand how I've been feeling lately. I'm not trying to give any credence to the predictions the old gypsy woman made, but please hear me out. At 56, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Before receiving my diagnosis, I was a fairly outgoing person. I loved hiking, camping, traveling...living every day of life to the fullest and now, everything has changed.

Yesterday I was filling out an questionnaire sent to me by the Social Security Administration. I had recently applied for Social Security Disability and they needed more information. On the form, they asked a lot of personal questions, as all government agencies do. I did my best to answer them all honestly and truthfully. The questions were geared toward understanding how my life had changed since I'd been diagnosed with cancer. They wanted to know how it had affected me emotionally and physically. They wanted to know if it had caused me any physical limitations, etc. etc. As I was filling out the form, each question made me realize that I had indeed experienced great life changes since my diagnosis. No longer did I want to go out in public, no longer did I want to participate in activities, no longer did I find joy in the things I had before...as I answered the questions, I was realizing that the old me, the me before cancer, had in fact died. At 56...I had died. The fortune teller, although putting on a guise for silly children at a county fair, had been partially correct. She had said I would die at the age of 56.

Now whether her statement stayed with me subconsciously for all those years and just recently resurfaced, or whether I'm just relating to that memory with recent circumstances, I don't know...but I do know that I have definitely changed. I feel like a part of me has been lost and will never be able to be regained again. Maybe over time, after I've healed a bit more, I'll find my "want to" again. I'll find my desire to live life to the fullest again. But right now, I'm just not there yet.

I know this is a long process and each breast cancer survivor has to work through this on her own. I know that God has never left me and He understands my feelings of despair at times. He was always so patient with Job and allowed him to grieve over the loss of his past life. And, in His great mercy, although He allowed Satan to touch Job's life in such a profound way, He restored Job. He blessed him with even more than he had before. He gave him a reason to find joy in his life again. Job never lost sight of what was really important. Things and even people didn't matter to Job. The only thing that mattered was his relationship with Christ. I know that too. I know that the only thing that really matters in my life is my relationship with Christ. Right now, I feel like I've lost the old me and I feel like I've died to some degree. But I know God has so much more for me.

Sometimes I feel like I'm back at the fair only this time, I'm on the merry go round. It's going around and around, faster and faster, it's going. It is constantly moving and I'm going up and down on the wooden pony, but never reaching my destination. I look around and as I'm traveling, I watch different bits of my life passing by. I want to stop and get off but I can't. How long will I feel this way? How long until I feel myself again? Was the fortune teller right? Had I died at 56? Was this all a terrible dream that I can't wake up from?

No. I'm a realist. I know I'm not dead and I didn't really die at 56. Yes, a small part of me is gone. The part of me that was self confident and self reliant. But as I think about it, maybe those parts needed to go because if they were still part of me, I wouldn't be forced to rely on God as much as I do now.

The county fair is gone now and I didn't get to go this year. It wasn't because I couldn't, it's because I didn't have any desire to go. I didn't want to be around massive amounts of people. I didn't want to have to put on my fake boobs and go out in public. I wasn't feeling well physically. It's probably a good thing I didn't go too, because if I had, I'm sure I would have seen a gypsy fortune teller there and I would have been reminded all over again about my past experience as a child.

Isn't it amazing the memories we store up in our minds from childhood? We are so impressionable. The memory of the fortune teller wasn't a pleasant one and is one I'm choosing to forget as of this day. I wonder if she ever knew how her statements affected all the children who placed their hands in hers? I wonder if she cared or if she was only interested in that dollar she made from each one?

I'm sure there are many who honestly do believe in palm reading and fortune telling but I'm not one of them. I know those things are tools of darkness and are not to be dabbled with by Christians. I wish I'd never sat in the fortune teller's chair all those years ago, but we didn't know better back then. We thought it was just a part of the fair...something fun to do, but it was so much more.

Yes, a part of me died at 56, but the rest of me still lives! I may not be the same person any longer, but I'll be a better person...a changed person. I'll be different because of what I've experienced and hopefully, I'll have grown. I know that Jesus lives inside my heart and He wants me to live life to the fullest. I'm taking one day at a time. I'm so thankful He's patient with me. It's a process and He's guiding me into more Christlikeness.

I don't have to look at my palm to see how long I'm going to live! Only God knows the answer to that question. It's not for me to know and I'm thankful I don't! If I knew how long I had left to live, I would always be focusing on my expiration date instead of focusing on today. Living in the moment has become my new way of life and I think I like it that way. It's a short time frame to focus on and I can handle that.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

 

2 Corinthians 6:13-15New King James Version (NKJV)

¹³ Now in return for the same (I speak as to children), you also be open.
¹⁴ Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers. For what fellowship has righteousness with lawlessness? And what communion has light with darkness? ¹⁵ And what accord has Christ with Belial? Or what part has a believer with an unbeliever?

Pain, Pain, go away!

What I want you to know:
It seems like I've done nothing but complain for the past few days. I know Phil is so tired of hearing my moaning and groaning, but he says nothing. The radiation burns are driving me crazy and I think I may be allergic to the sulphur based cream the doctor prescribed to help with my pain. Can you see me...with my hand thrown up against my brow crying "woe is me?"

Not wanting to wear clothing on the top half of my body is getting to be ridiculous, but it feels so much better not having the cloth rubbing against me. Last night, as we sat and watched TV, I figured out a way to unbutton my long sleeve shirt and take out the right arm while draping that sleeve around toward the left side just enough to cover the lower half of my right torso. I unhooked the button at the cuff and buttoned it along the middle row of buttons on my shirt making a make shift top that allowed air to flow around my upper right arm. Well, even that wasn't good enough. I was still in pain even though I was getting good air flow, so I went to get a gel ice pack out of the freezer. I wrapped the gel pack in a cotton dish towel and sat with that under my arm pit for the rest of the show.

The ice pack felt so good and very soothing and VERY cold. In just a few minutes, my core body temperature seemed to go down a few degrees. I guess that's why on medical shows, when someone has a raging fever, and they need to get it down quickly, they pack ice under their armpits and in the groin area. The ice was doing such a good job, that when we got ready for bed, I slept with it.

This morning, the gel pack was lying on the floor next to the bed. It had thawed out a few hours after I'd put it under my arm and sometime during the night, I guess I'd thrown it down onto the floor. I slept fitfully again last night, even though I had taken a pain pill. It's just so hard to get comfortable.

Both of my armpits are already extremely swollen and it's only 7:22 a.m. I haven't been able to wear the compression sleeves for Lymphedema since my burns have gotten so bad. The doctor told me the right sleeve was rubbing against my chest and irritating the burned area. So now I have fat arms and an irritated, burned chest. It hurts!

I'm going to try to enjoy my last day of freedom for the weekend...a day where I don't have to go to the radiation clinic. On Monday, I'll have the 19th treatment, (the one I was supposed to have on Friday), and I'll get to see the doctor. I am concerned about the way my skin has turned a deep shade of brownish red and is spotted with bumps. Hopefully she'll be able to tell if this is normal for this amount of radiation or if I'm having a reaction to the Silvadene cream.

What I'm thinking:
I am frustrated beyond belief! I want to be done with treatments. I need to bite my tongue instead of being so vocal around Phil about how I'm feeling. It isn't fair to him for me to complain constantly. It isn't like me! I don't like this side of me. Will the swelling and pain go away when the radiation stops? Will I continue to fight exhaustion after treatments end? Will I be able to enjoy the holidays this year? When we went to Cracker Barrel yesterday, I saw Christmas decorations in their gift shop. I didn't even get excited, in fact, I dreaded even thinking about Christmas...the shopping, the cooking, the decorating....entertaining. Oh how I would love for one of the kids to take over doing Christmas for the family this year! It would be so nice to just go and enjoy it somewhere else. Why am I thinking so far ahead? Why am I feeling this way? Why don't I look forward to Christmas this year? Oh my gosh...why do I have so many questions? I guess I'd better go get the ice pack and put it back under my arm. Typing is taking a huge effort this morning, so I'm going to have to stop now. I hope people don't think I'm crazy when they read my blog!

A Gift

Just when you seem to yourself
nothing but a flimsy web
of questions, you are given
the questions of others to hold
in the emptiness of your hands,
songbird eggs that can still hatch
if you keep them warm,
butterflies opening and closing themselves
in your cupped palms, trusting you not to injure
their scintillant fur, their dust.
You are given the questions of others
as if they were answers
to all you ask. Yes, perhaps
this gift is your answer.

Denise Levertov

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

 

K.I.T.

Betcha wonder what K.I.T. stands for, don't you? Well, it stands for "Keep it Together." It's from a movie line. In the movie, "Bowfinger," Eddie Murphy does a great job of drawing us in and making us laugh hysterically. I'll attach a clip from the movie, so you can see what I'm talking about after you finish reading my blog post for today, but in the meantime, what I'm about to share with you isn't very funny.

From the time I was a teenager, I've been a type A personality...you know, the high achiever, the people pleaser, the "gotta get it done yesterday" kinda person. I've always prided myself in my ability to remain in control, even through difficult circumstances in my life, I was always able to K.I.T. (keep it together) but since I was diagnosed with breast cancer, everything's been falling apart. I can't fix things with my bottle of "control glue" any longer. I've had to learn to let things fall apart. It hasn't been easy to learn to let go of things I can't control, but I'm doing it little by little every day. Relinquishing my control has been a huge challenge for me, but...I'm finally realizing that I was never in control in the first place.

It isn't easy to K.I.T.  when things are chaotic! When life takes a mad twist and throws you into the middle of a raging storm, you quickly realize your mad rowing isn't going to do a thing...so you learn to lean back in the stern of the boat and hold on for dear life. You go where the storm takes you and even if you haven't got a clue where you're going to end up, you K.I.T. because if you don't, you're going to fall completely apart.

Keeping it together doesn't necessarily mean you don't get frightened at times...that's a given. Life is scary especially when you feel out of control. Cancer is a great teacher of that lesson! In the beginning you do your best to K.I.T. and you do a pretty good job of it...taking each punch as it's thrown at you and dodging the ones you can...but, eventually, you realize it's best to ride out the storm because fighting takes up too much energy. That's where I am today. I'm tired of fighting so I've just stopped...

It's so much easier to stop trying to fix things and just accept "what is" as it comes. I've finally realized that my bottle of control glue is empty. But it is of little consequence because...there's Someone else in control of my ship! Yep, you guessed it...it's God. He's always been the captain of my ship. Sure, I've tried to take the wheel a few times and on rare occasions, He's let me so He could teach me a lesson or two. But traveling through the storm of cancer, I think He knows how to navigate so much better than I do. It's amazing to me that I ever thought I was in control. What was I thinking??? I'm sure I gave God a good chuckle now and then. I can just see Him sitting up there on a huge, white, puffy cloud with His arms crossed, looking down at me as I frantically tried to K.I.T. He probably let out a huge belly laugh and then began shaking His head in sad disbelief as I continually struggled to keep my life under control.

So how did I get to the point where I could let go? I'll tell you. I just got tired. I mean, I got really physically tired. Fighting got too difficult. I had to let go. I had to learn that situations around me are constantly changing and I just can't do it any more. I can't control anything in my life so I have to just learn to K.I.T. moment by moment. I'm not talking about keeping it together in a controlling way, I'm talking about keeping it together "in the midst of the storm" kind of way...where I just chill out and relax even though the sea is raging around me.

It's not my job to control things and it never has been. I'm not supposed to have the bottle of "control glue." God is the only one who can keep my life together through sunshine or through the storms. I'm so glad I finally realized this fact. It has taken a huge weight off of my shoulders. You might hear me whispering to my self "keep it together, keep it together, keep it together!" like Eddie Murphy did in the movie, but that's just me giving myself a reminder that even though I'm not in control, I need to keep myself calm and still. Soon the raging storm will be over and I'll be safely deposited on the shore. God's going to get me through this and when the storm is over, He'll have taught me some valuable lessons.

Do you think you have a bottle of "control glue" sitting on a shelf in your mind? If you do, you're sadly mistaken. You don't have control. You can practice keeping it together, but it won't change your circumstances. Learn to let go and Let God take control. You'll find it so much easier to just rest and relax...go with the flow...ride the waves! Be sure to watch the movie clip:
KEEP IT TOGETHER, Eddie Murphy movie clip from Bowfinger

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Feeling yucky

What I want you to know- 
Yucky...a nicer way to say I feel disgusting. I used it a lot when my children were young, especially when they were sick and had a hard time describing how they felt to me. Well, last night the yuckiness began for me. Shortly after dinner, I began to feel extreme nausea. I wasn't sure if it was something I'd eaten, the new pain pills the doc had prescribed, a virus, or a combination of all three. I didn't like feeling like I was going through a round of morning sickness so I went to bed early. I slept fairly well because of the hydrocodone pills that Dr. Santiago had prescribed yesterday to help with my burn pain.

This morning, I woke up feeling rested but as soon as I got out of the bed, I began to feel nauseated again. I didn't have any ginger ale on hand, but found a packet of ginger tea. Ginger is supposed to be a natural anti nausea remedy. I don't like Ginger very much. The taste is so overpowering to me, but I drank it anyway. I just wanted to feel better.

I thought about calling in sick to the radiation clinic but before I could even do that, they called me! They said their machine was down today so they wouldn't be able to treat me and that they'd just tack that treatment on to the end of my remaining ones. WOOHOO. I didn't feel like going today anyway and my poor skin could surely use a break. 

The nausea continued and was getting stronger so I called my oldest daughter, Erin. She sells DoTerra essential oils and she'd know which oil would help with nausea. Her recommendation was peppermint oil. I put a couple of drops in a glass of water and drank it, (not very good tasting, but I did it anyway.) Still no relief so I put a few drops under my nose as she advised. Just smelling the peppermint seemed to help a little but then...things got really yucky. I won't go into details because when I say yucky, I mean YUCKY and you don't want to know.

Suffice it to say that after the yuckiness was over, I began to feel a little better. The nausea began to abate and I was able to slowly eat a piece of dry toast and keep it down (now you know what the yuckiness was...)

What I'm thinking-
Really??? All I need is to be sick at my stomach! Isn't it enough that I'm exhausted and burnt? Oh how thankful I am not to have to go to radiation today! I tried not to sound too overjoyed when they called, I wouldn't have wanted to hurt anyone's feelings, NOT. Guess it will be toast or crackers all day since I don't want to throw up again. I wish I had some Ginger ale...I'll call hubby and get him to pick some up on the way home from work, he's such a sweetheart, I know he'll do it for me. I hope it isn't a virus, I don't want him to get sick. I wonder if it was something I ate for dinner? Could it have been the chicken from Longhorns, or the salad? Is it a side effect from the pain meds? Oh, I wish I knew. I don't like being sick. I don't like feeling yucky...wish it would go away....

I don't like pain!

What I want you to know: 
This is going to be a short post today because I'm not feeling well. The rough days seem to be outnumbering the good days now and it's definitely a challenge. Today will be my 18th radiation treatment.

Yesterday, the radiology techs noticed that my skin was really getting to be a dark red color so they asked me to wait while they talked to the doctor. After they spoke with her, she wanted to see me and look at my skin. Dr. Santiago seemed quite concerned as she checked me and wrote a prescription for Silvadine, a sulphur based ointment used for severe burns. She also gave me a cooling gel pack to apply as many times as necessary to help ease the discomfort.

On the way home from the radiation clinic, I stopped by the drugstore to have the medication filled. Thankfully, we've met our out of pocket expenses and there was no charge for the prescription. When I got home, I immediately took off my top and began to apply the Silvadine. It reminded me of a thick, diaper rash ointment I used to use on my children when they were babies.

Dr. Santiago told me that I needed to get as much air circulation as possible around my radiation burns and she wanted me to go topless as much as I could while at home. I felt funny sitting in the living room in my recliner without a shirt on. It was starting to get chilly here in Georgia and without a shirt on, I was even chillier.

I never knew burns could be so painful. I've burned myself many times throughout my life while either ironing or cooking. There were also some painful sunburns from Florida vacations, but nothing has hurt like radiation. I have a new found empathy toward burn victims. I can't imagine having 80 or 90% of your body burned. The pain must be excruciating! At least I'm not having to deal with debridement too.

Phil has gotten used to seeing me in a white wife beater tank top or without a top on at all. I have to admit, it's not a pretty sight, but you do what you have to do. I'm following doctor's orders. My skin has already broken down a great deal and with upcoming treatments, it will only get worse. The doctor said if it gets too bad, they'll stop treatment for a day or two to allow me to heal up some. I wish I could call in sick today...

What I'm thinking:
This has been the most challenging thing I've ever been through in my life. Every day is a struggle. I'm a pretty tough old broad, but I'm having a hard time with this. I wish my family members would call and check in on me. Sometimes I feel so alone in this. I wonder if they really know how hard it is to fight every single day. I don't want sympathy, just a little love. I'm still not sleeping well. Last night it's a wonder Phil wasn't bounced off of the bed. I try and try to get comfortable but it's hard. If I turn a certain way, it hurts and pulls. I would give anything for a solid 8 hours of sleep. I don't want to do anything. I stay in the house all day long other than to go to treatment and walk down to get the mail. This is not like me at all. I am wondering when I'm going to feel like my "old" self again...will I ever feel like my "old" self again? I wonder if I'm suffering from depression. I'm not a person who usually gets depressed. I wonder if the cancer is spreading...I haven't told anyone that my bones are hurting, especially my left shin bone. Last night it hurt so badly. Tylenol didn't help. I have to talk to the doctor about this. It's a huge concern for me, but my appointment isn't until the end of October. I pray it hasn't spread. I don't want to even think about it spreading, but it's a real possibility...

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

 

And that's the way it is

I began this post with Walter Cronkite's famous tag line, his sign off at the end of each CBS news broadcast. I couldn't think of a more fitting title for this post since I'm going to be telling it the way it is...

Yesterday was my 16th radiation treatment and it was an extremely a hard day for me. I didn't realize how hard it would be until I got home from treatment and went into the bathroom to apply the Radiaplex gel to my chest. When I looked in the mirror, I saw that my skin was really breaking down. There were dark red burns and spots along the wall of my chest. My skin felt so hot and and tender to the touch. Very gently I applied the prescription burn gel and put on my white "wife beater" tank top. (For those of you who aren't familiar with the term "wife beater," it's slang for a sleeveless white T-shirt and its reputation comes from low class types of men who would often wear the shirts while engaged in domestic violence i.e. drunk rednecks who frequently beat their wives.) The reason I'd chosen this type of shirt was because it was the only 100% cotton shirt I owned. Mine weren't really "wife beaters"... they were only similar to that...mine were from Old Navy and were women's tank tops! On my last examination, the doctor had warned me that I needed to pay particular attention to my skin care. She gave me an odd piece of advice saying I needed to sit around the house topless! When she said that, I was thinking to myself, "ummm, no." I couldn't do that..as sure as the world, my doorbell would ring and I'd be surprised with the unexpected visit from a friend! So the next best thing, was for me to find a way to allow the treatment area to get as much air to it as possible while remaining covered...therefore, the wife beater.

I began doing a little housework and before I was even able to start making the bed or washing clothes, was overcome with exhaustion. I was so very tired and felt like I didn't even have the energy to move across the room. Why was I so extremely tired? I knew that radiation has something to do with it, but this was a debilitating tiredness that I had never experienced before. I sat in my recliner and stayed there most of the day. I felt so guilty just sitting there doing nothing...there was so much that needed to be done.

Around 5:00 p.m. I glanced at the clock and realized that Phil would be home soon. I hadn't prepared a single thing for dinner. I usually have it almost ready by the time he comes home from work. When he came in the door and came over to me, he could tell I was having a bad day. He put his arms around me and asked how I was feeling. I began to weep and told him that I was just so very tired. I told him that I hadn't even prepared dinner and he told me not to worry about it.

God does some amazing things! At 5:45 p.m. our doorbell rang and Phil went to answer it. There, with a large stainless steel pot in her hands, stood one of our new neighbors. She was on her way to church and wanted to drop off a big pot of lentil stew she'd made for us. I couldn't help but cry like a little baby. God knew I was too tired to cook and so He had prompted Judith, our neighbor, to do it for me! What a huge blessing!

It's a good thing I wasn't sitting there topless when Judith came by to drop off our dinner! I'm sure she would have been completely shocked, as would I! God continues to amaze me at His provision during this time in my life. When I am completely drained physically, He meets my needs in ways I never expect. Without me even offering up a request to Him, He already knew...just like everything in our lives, He already knows our needs before we even ask! Sometimes, I think He finds joy in surprising us as a reminder that He's got it covered and that's the way it is....

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

"And when you are praying, do not use meaningless repetition as the Gentiles do, for they suppose that they will be heard for their many words. So do not be like them; for your Father knows what you need before you ask Him." Matthew 6:7-8

The broken vase

After my grandmother died, I had been given a white pottery vase by my mother. It was one my grandmother had owned for many years. Shaped like a small urn, the vase was unique and typical of those fashioned in the mid 1920's. I loved it not only because it was an antique, but because it was my grandmother's. I was honored that my mother had chosen to part with it and give it to me. I kept the vase in a safe place so it would never be broken and I enjoyed looking at it daily. It held not only sentimental value, but also monetary value because of its age.

One day, my youngest daughter was playing in the house. She was throwing a ball around and I'm sure, before I even complete the story, you know what happened....yes, she accidentally knocked over the vase and broke it. She had been warned several times to play in another room, but was more concerned about playing than about listening to her mother.

The sound of her gasp, caused me to jump up from my chair at the same time the vase fell to the floor with a loud, shattering thud. Without even seeing it, I knew my vase was broken. I'll never forget the look of horror on her face. I knew she was instantly sorry for what she'd done. Instead of consoling her, I immediately began to berate her for breaking my prized possession. With huge crocodile tears in her eyes, she gathered up the pieces of the vase and ran up the stairs. I was so angry. I had warned her not to play with the ball indoors. She had destroyed my treasure. I think I fumed about the broken vase for the rest of the day while my daughter avoided all contact with me.

Jamie came to me later with what was left of the vase and the broken pieces. With such a sweet, tender voice she asked for some glue so she could repair the vase. I told her not to worry about it because it was damaged and would no longer be valuable to me. Her head hung in shame, she lay the vase and the pieces on the table and walked away.

Days passed and that broken vase lay unattended on the table in my basement craft room. Whenever I walked by it, I was saddened...I wasn't saddened by the loss of the vase, but in my actions toward my daughter. I heard the words of my mother in my head chiding me, "what's more important a thing or a person?" I knew I had reacted wrongly to the breaking of the vase. I had to make things right.

I found my daughter and apologized for saying such hurtful things to her. I explained to her why I reacted in the way I did. It was not that the vase was monetarily valuable, it was because it was because it had belonged to my grandmother. I had allowed my anger to cloud my judgment. I had reacted in a fleshly manner. I was so ashamed of myself.

Jamie accepted my apology and together we glued the pieces of the vase back together. Fortunately, we were able to fit all the pieces into place except for one tiny missing piece. After the glue had dried, she told me again how sorry she was for breaking the vase and how she knew it would never be the same again. I told her that the vase meant even more to me now because it was a constant reminder of how fragile people's feelings can be. I told her I never wanted to forget how I had made her feel that day and that I hoped I would never be so cruel to anyone ever again.

I managed to save the mended vase for many years after that, but on our recent move to our new home, the vase was broken again. This time it was beyond repair and I ended up throwing it away. What was more important, a person or a thing? For me, definitely my sweet daughter was more important than an antique pottery vase. Things can be replaced. People can't. I learned a valuable lesson that day and so did she. Forgiveness and love can heal hurt feelings and broken lives.

Here's another story I'd like to tie in with mine. I did not write this part and I don't know who did, so I can't give them credit but you'll see why I needed to share this in a few minutes as you continue to read: There's an ancient Japanese story that tells about a Sakai tea man who found a brilliant Chinese tea jar. He was so pleased with his find that he invited the famed tea man Sen no Rikyu to a gathering of friends to show off the beautiful piece. But to the Sakai man’s amazement, when he served tea in the lovely piece, Sen no Rikyu paid no mind to the jar. Once Sen no Rikyu left, the Sakai man threw the tea jar against a wall, shattering it into pieces. His friends gathered the fragments and took them home where they mended the jar back together with gold lacquer. The same friends then invited Sen no Rikyu to a gathering of their own where they offered him tea in the mended jar. When Rikyu saw the mended tea jar he exclaimed, “Now the piece is magnificent!” Some link this story to the birth of “kintsugi”, an ancient Japanese art which translates, “patch with gold.” Kintsugi artists mend broken pieces of ceramics and pottery using gold lacquer, making the pieces are more striking and unique than when they were pulled from the wheel or kiln. In a modern culture that often grades wholeness through the lens of perfection, Kintsugi offers a different perspective.

The art of kintsugi rests in the truth that vessels are stronger and more magnificent because they have been made whole from brokenness, not because they are without imperfection. Each vessel—and every one of our lives—can tell a unique story if we no longer feel we must hide the scarred parts of our lives. “We want to be restored to health, but we don’t simply want what we once were. We want to be better, stronger, wiser for the pain, struggle, and sacrifice.”

Isn’t this the wholeness that we truly seek? We want to be restored to health, but we don’t simply want what we once were. We want to be better, stronger, wiser for the pain, struggle, and sacrifice. We want our scars to shimmer like gold and tell a beautiful story: namely, that what is broken can be whole again, and more beautiful than before. 

That broken vase, the art of kintsugi, my scars from surgery...all of those tie in together. Breaking isn't something we ever intend to have happen but sometimes, it just does. We can let the brokenness make us bitter or make us better. We can throw away the chipped pieces or gently try to repair them. It's our choice. If we choose to fit the pieces back together again, the scars become part of the beautiful story of a damaged but restored life. This is where I am now. My body has been broken and while I can't fit the pieces back together again, I can allow the scars to be a precious reminder of everything I've been through. They can be a constant reminder that I am still living....that I am still fighting...that I am so blessed. 

Just like the pottery vase that Jamie and I mended together with glue, I'll  never quite be the same again, but that's okay. I'm different now. And while you may think a broken vase would leak when you fill it with water, that's not the case with a broken and healed person. Instead of becoming weaker, they become stronger. In the same way a Kintsugi artist takes pieces of broken vessels and adorns them with brilliant gold lacquer, God's used this cancer to do the same for me. He's increased my value a thousand times over because He is the one who has done the restoration in my life. I have done nothing. He has fashioned and molded me completely into His perfect vessel even though He has allowed missing pieces to remain untouched. The Kintsugi art and the broken vase were mended with precision and accuracy to produce the best possible results. God has done the same with me.

When God chose to allow me to be broken, He knew exactly how much breaking needed to be done in order to teach me what He wanted me to learn. Modern day Kintsugi artists will take perfect pieces of pottery and purposely break them in order to practice their art. I certainly was in no way perfect before God allowed me to be broken. My scarred body is evidence of that, but one day, I will be perfect and I will have my broken body made whole again. There will be no need for gold lacquer to fill in the gaps. Those gaps will be filled in solidly with the love of Christ. For where I am weak, He is strong. 

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