Category: Biblical Encouragement

Living with the Wind Knocked Out of Me: Part 12 – REBUILD

thischicksinpeace1 Comment

When I was in elementary school, I remember climbing on the playground structure and falling off.

Do you remember the uneven bars “of death” that some alleged architectural genius stuck off to the side of the structure that’s purpose was a climbing entry point? Too low to the ground to hang from but too high to get onto easily without climbing. The best way to use these bars was to climb on top of them – army crawl style- or (if you were really brave) to walk on top of them praying you didn’t slip through the spaces as you walked.

I think you may have the visual picture.

I was part crawling and part walking and, shockingly, fell through the bars and banged my chest on a bar as I slipped through it to the ground. Upon hitting the ground, you guessed it, I couldn’t breathe: the wind had been knocked out of me.

I vividly remember laying on the ground desperately trying to “catch” my breath. It was, to an elementary age child, agonizing. It felt like it took forever for me to be able to breathe normally although, I am sure, it took only a matter of seconds for me to recover.

I obviously did recover from that incident, but it is interesting that that is what I am reflecting on in this current season of today approximately 40 years later.

I am learning to live with the wind knocked out of me.

Nine months ago, I became a statistic. I was (and am) suddenly one of the thousands of women diagnosed with breast cancer daily and it took the wind out of me.

I was maneuvering through the so-called playground of life and fell through the bars, crashing my chest into the bar as I went down. All I had done “wrong” was participate in this playground of life. By “playing” I was vulnerable to the impact living exposes me to.

That means, because I walk this earth as you do, things happen: both good things and bad things.

Things that can elevate you in praise, glory, and wonder. Things that can bring you to your knees as you gasp for breath and plead for meaning or mercy.

As the weight of the diagnosis settled into my bones, I clung to what I knew as truth while I searched for refuge, purpose, clarity, healing, protection, and help. What I knew about myself up to that moment was both challenged and altered.

My physical self was completely changed as part of me was removed. Some may think that is not always a bad thing, especially because reconstruction was going to be in my future. Why not have the body many people desire to obtain, after all? Why not enjoy the “perk” of cancer? Why not augment what I had been given when I was being formed in my mother’s womb?

The physical changes are mere reflections, reminders, scars of what has occurred in places people cannot see: my emotional and spiritual self.

As my body is being sculpted into wholeness by the skilled surgeons assigned to my case, my inner being is being sculpted by the Great Physician, the Potter.

Woe to him who quarrels with his Maker- a piece of broken pottery among other broken pieces! Shall the clay say to the potter, “What are you doing?” ~Isaiah 45:9

The temptation is very strong to question why, to argue that “I don’t deserve this” as if to say others do, to feel sorry for myself as if I am helpless in my situation. There have been moments when I’ve been justified in my feelings, but that doesn’t make them right.

But “woe to him who quarrels with his Maker by saying “what are You doing?“

Shall the potter be considered equal with the clay, that the thing that is made would say to its maker, “He did not make me”; Or the thing formed say to him who formed it, “He has no understanding.” ~Isaiah 29:16

I have heard many sermons regarding God as the potter, and we are the clay in His hands. The shaping, the molding, the shards of clay forcibly pressed into the mold on the wheel, other pieces aggressively torn off all sound painful. We speak of pruning in biblical allegories as well, which also sounds painful.

The picture is of God, as the gardener, who must cut or tear off what is hindering the plant from producing fruit. The visual is of God, as the potter at his wheel, with sweat pouring off his brow as he firmly molds, aggressively shapes with his hands, squeezing and pressing new clay into the wheel, crushing to form a new or improved piece of clay.

Reconstructing. Rebuilding. Reforming.

Both the gardener and the potter could be viewed as focused. Intentional. Driven to accomplish the vision with purpose. With force if necessary.

We could easily turn these allegories into explanations for transformations. Who are we to argue with the Maker? Who are we to think we can escape the hands of the potter who made us?

“O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter does?” says the Lord. “Look carefully, as the clay is in the potter’s hand, so are you in My hand…” ~Jeremiah 18:6

Through this season I have developed a different understanding:

Therefore the Lord waits and longs to be gracious to you, and therefore He waits on high to have compassion on you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who long for Him. O people in Zion, you will weep no longer. He will most certainly be gracious to you at the sound of your cry for help; when He hears it, He will answer you. Though the Lord gives you the bread of adversity and the water of oppression, yet your Teacher will no longer hide Himself, but your eyes will see your Teacher. Your ears will hear a word behind you, “This is the way, walk in it,” whenever you turn to the right or left.” ~ Isaiah 30:18-21

15 years ago, I was so angry after the death of my sister-in-law. I was crushed that we never got the fairy tale ending to our story of addiction that I believed I was owed. I could not understand why, if there truly was a God, would a “good” God not intervene and stop her addiction? Why He didn’t stop ALL addictions. Why did He allow His creation to destroy itself?

Who else would succumb to the talons of addiction? Anyone it appeared.

In my anger, I decided to approach the One I was most angry with: God. So, I went to His “house”, His Church. Why not? What did I have to lose? Faith in something I didn’t like, understand, or could control?

Once there, I expected to be rejected. I expected to be exposed for the sinner that I was. I expected to be shamed for my behavior and choices. I expected to be told I was unwelcome and unwanted. Unredeemable. Unforgiven. Unloved.

I was going to the BOSS with disrespect because life was not working out the way I wanted it to. He wasn’t doing what I thought He should do even though I also was not doing what I was created to do myself. I wanted HIS blessings without having to serve Him. I demanded it, in fact.

I busted through the door into the throne room and found grace and mercy waiting for me there.

Therefore, let us (with privilege) approach the throne of grace with confidence and without fear, so that we may receive mercy (for our failures) and find (His amazing) grace to help in time of need (an appropriate blessing, coming just at the right moment) ~Hebrews 4:16

I was raised to “know better” that what I was doing. To “live better” than I was. Yet, I was met with open arms instead of hands ready to punish. Instead, His hands were ready to start the reshaping of me tenderly.

Reconstructing. Rebuilding.

Yes, I am the clay and He is the Potter. He sits at the wheel with focus and intentionality but also with LOVE as I, as the clay, am held in His nail-pierced hands. Every ounce of me that is being shaped, molded, and formed is being done so I am transformed more into His image. The spotless lamb. The suffering servant. The humble Messiah.

He has no stately form of majestic splendor that we would look at Him. Nor (handsome) appearance that we would be attracted to Him. He was despised and rejected by men, a Man of sorrows and pain and acquainted with grief; and like One from whom men hide their faces He was despised and we did not appreciate His worth or esteem. ~Isaiah 53:2-3

But, in fact, He has borne our griefs, and He has carried our sorrows and pains; yet we ignorantly assumed that He was stricken, struck down by God and degraded and humiliated by Him. But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was crushed for our wickedness; the punishment for our well-being fell on Him, and by His stripes (wounds) we are healed. ~Isaiah 53:4-5

Those are the hands of the Potter that I rest in. That is His character… not to harm me or hurt me as He molds me, but to lovingly and with grace shape me into who He created me to be.

Can you see the vision now?

Picture the Potter…not overly handsome or visibly strong in stature. His face is focused on what is in His hands, His eyes filled with grief over what I am bearing. His flogged-scarred body rocks gently as His foot pushes on the peddle to move the wheel while never losing sight of me, the clay.

I am being nourished with living water as new clay is brought to the wheel and as old clay falls off. The whole time I am nestled in the palm of His hands that willingly took the nails that held Him to the cross.

Can you see the beauty in it?

The tenderness?

The grace?

I have had cancer. I had my reconstruction surgery and have now been rebuilt externally…The Potter is still rebuilding the inside of me.

Shaping me.

Forming me.

Making me whole.

Giving me my breath back after having the wind knocked out of me.

Rebuilding me.

This is the Savior that I serve.

For God so loved the world He sent His only Son so that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send His Son into the world to judge and condemn the world, but that the world would be saved through Him. ~John 3:16-17

Living with the Wind Knocked Out of Me: Part 6~ Trust

thischicksinpeace1 Comment

I was getting a latte today when a man approached me. His excitement was radiating off of him:  he had news he needed to share even though it meant sharing with a complete stranger.

He found a good deal on a new truck and even showed me a picture of it as I waited in line to place my order.

As he talked about the truck, he said he was in disbelief over the wonder of it all and the timing of finding it:

he told me that he had been at a Bible study the night before. While there, he  was prayed over regarding his need for a new vehicle.

He found the truck this morning; the very next day.

What really surprised him was the color of the truck: it was a mocha brown, I guess. He told me his last car, a Chevy Malibu, had been the same color when it was “taken” from him, and here is our Lord replacing his vehicle with one of the same color.

I couldn’t help but comment to him on how pretty I thought the truck was, affirmed that a Chevy Silvarado is a great truck, and that our God sure is good.

We serve a King who pays attention to the small details of life.

But now, THIS is what the Lord says- He who created you, He who formed you:

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name and YOU ARE MINE.

WHEN you pass through the waters, I will be with you.

WHEN you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.

WHEN you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.

For I am the Lord your God…”

                           Isaiah 43:1-3

How often do I boldy give praise for what the Lord has done as that man in the coffee shop did?

Psalm 89:1

I will sing of the goodness and lovingkindness of the Lord forever! With my mouth, I will make known Your faithfulness from generation to generation.

The truth is this: probably not often enough.  It’s so easy to see what is wrong or what feels bad or what is scary or hurtful. Those negative emotions all too often shade the beautiful colors still  represented in this life that we continue to live each and every day.

I was told recently that when we find ourselves walking in the valley of the shadow of death, we forget that it is only a shadow.

That means the sun is still shining: we need light to make a shadow.

Are we seeking that  source of light??? Or keeping our focus on the valley? On the shadow?

Through this journey of breast cancer, I have mentioned my concerns regarding my underlying diagnosis of Crohn’s Disease.

It’s time to talk about that. If you thought I was getting personal before…. this factor takes me to a whole other level of intimacy and is not one I find easy to share.

In 2018, the disease I knew and had been treated for since I was the age of 14 changed. Most likely, from all the years of inflammation in my colon, a fistula developed that caused an abscess.

I’ll spare the details but will say it was incredibly painful and I became very ill. A brand new course of treatment was suddenly required: an IV infusion that would suppress my immune system (on purpose) in order to stop my auto-immune system from going into overdrive.

Basically, I can’t heal if my auto-immune system is fighting my immune system all the time. It’s a rather ironic situation: make me immuno-suppressed so I don’t get sick, but being immuno-suppressed can make me susceptible to illness more easily.

Talk about living in tension.

The treatment has been very effective for my Crohn’s management.  The colon inflammation went away, and my GI system is in the best shape I’ve ever known I could experience, but I still have the fistula. 

Apparently, that’s a little bugger to heal.

On New Years Eve 2024, I had an MRI just to see what that fistula has been up to since 2018.

I had no real issues going on, so it was fairly “random” that my trusted GI PA  wanted to look under rocks for me. As he said, “Amy, you are getting by- and that’s OK. But  I want you to thrive.”

May we all be blessed with a medical team that desires us to THRIVE.

Per the MRI, much to his surprise (and mine as well), there was another abscess present. I had zero discomfort or awareness it was there, so the decision was made for me to go on a HUGE antibiotic dose for 3 weeks.

I was terrified because I’ve experienced what antibiotics can do to an immuno-suppressed system: it can completely wipe out all the good, natural flora which could cause my system to be susceptible to a different bacteria. 

It’s not a fun thing to go through.

I trusted my medical team and took a deep breath: we went for it.

My life is in the Lord’s hands, I thought to myself. I believed this was found though His grace and timing. I chose to trust that God would carry me through whatever was going to happen next.

I was finishing those antibiotics (without one single issue of concern to speak of!!) when I was diagnosed with the breast cancer.

That’s why Crohn’s was on the forefront of my mind at the time of the diagnosis. You see,  I call my Crohn’s The Dragon. She often sleeps… but when she wakes up, LOOK OUT! I believed she was resting, but not sound asleep so I don’t want to wake her.

We must tread lightly.

As my previous posts have shared, I’m under some stress. I’m feeling the strain of this diagnosis. I’m feeling the weight of the uncertainties. My emotions are all over the board. My anxiety ambushes me. Depression washes over me.

That Scripture from Isaiah rings LOUD. The rivers are flowing hard  and deep with a fast current. The fire is H-O-T.

Trying to remember what the Lord promised me and not be afraid feels like a losing battle.

I was settling into the idea that my surgical date had been set for April 16…over a month away. I was looking for the positives in the timeline that had been set for me and leaned into them.

My friend told me I had been given a gift of time to optimize my health. He reminded me that I had over 4 weeks to get my body “ready” to have and recover from a big surgery.

Taking his advice, I turned to yoga for stretching and strengthening while increasing my protein intake.

I decided to be productive in the waiting.

On March 6, I noticed that I was more tired than usual after work, but I wasn’t too concerned about it. I wasn’t going to analyze it. So,  I took a nap after work and determined to still do my exercises. 

As I shifted into the sit- stretch positions of yoga, I noticed a discomfort that had not been there the day before. I tried to convince myself, “This is normal,” and that “I’m ok, don’t worry.”

I opted not to speak a word to Dan about it.  I determined it was all in my head. I convinced myself (but not really) that a discomfort when sitting is “totally normal.”

FYI: That is what most auto-immune patients are convinced of. We believe what we feel is all in our heads. It is not real. Somewhere, along the line, we must have been told this, and that is why our diseases run rampant: we don’t speak up for fear of judgment.

The next morning, I did not want to get out of bed. If I did, I would have to determine whether what I suspected was going was real or not. My instinct told me, though, that the previously discovered and somewhat treated abscess had surfaced. 

The longer I lingered, the longer I could stay in denial.

I do not want to deal with my Crohn’s right now. I don’t want to face a return of life with an abscess. Don’t I have enough going on, Lord?? This doesn’t seem fair.

Then the doubts surfaced quickly: What if they don’t believe me when I call my medical team? What if I’m wrong and sound the alarm for no reason? What if I’m what I’m afraid of being: dramatic???

That’s when the phone rang. Answering it, I find that it is my breast surgeon’s office. They have had a cancelation.  Would I want to move my surgery date up to that coming Wednesday?  In 5 days.

Are you kidding me?!

The absolute absurdity that I am being offered the chance to have this flipping cancer that haunts my dreams and stunts my reality cut out of me sooner has been laid on the table before me….and I think I have a Crohn’s fistula abscess.

Are you kidding me.

The woman calling did not ask me if I was healthy or having any medical problems. I had told NO ONE that this was even happening. 

No one knew.

No one asked.

No one had to know?

But I knew.  And I knew this could be bad if I ignored it. I knew the surgery recovery could have complications if I had an active infection but did not disclose it.

Are you kidding me.

I needed time to think. 

I couldn’t breathe all of a sudden because I knew what I had to do, and that was to choose to keep the cancer so I could deal with The Dragon.

How do I say that out loud??

I want this cancer gone!! Every single minute it sits inside me feels like it is taking time off my life. I feel it burning inside of me. It aches.  Is it growing? Is it spreading?  Is it reaching my lymph nodes???

I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what I needed to do: take a deep breath and trust in the Lord.

Dear God,

The waters are rising!! I can’t catch my breath! You said they would not overwhelm me, but I’m scared and can’t breathe. You said the fire wouldn’t scorch me, but it is hot. It is so hot it hurts. Help me, help me, help me do what I know is right.  Help me not respond in fear and make a choice that will harm me. Help me to say “no.”

I told the breast surgeon’s office “no” and immediately called my colo-rectal surgeon. He ordered me antibiotics (again) and an appointment was made to see him in 6 days.

Instead of breast surgery in 5 days, I would see a colo- rectal surgeon in 6. Talk about a few degrees south from where I wished we would be addressing.

The discouragement I felt is hard to describe.  Maybe the best way is to envision that valley of the shadow of death.

The shadow was dark and heavy. The tears were hot and many.

A new fear surfaced: Could this impact that?? Is there enough time to get my infection under control before Aril 16?

Back to the land of the unknown.

I made it through the week with the antibiotics doing their good work, but now my anxiety feared the abscess would go dormant while appearing to be absolved because it had slithered back under the surface.

What would my colo- rectal surgeon say if I’m no longer having discomfort?  Would that be a good thing?  Or would it surface again right before April 16 to cause a major delay???

By the time I arrived to his office, I had myself nicely all worked up. The tears started in the car before entering the building. The hyperventilating came when the MA asked her pre-appointment questions.

My poor doctor. I feel bad for him and what he walked into when he came into the room as I was barely holding it together. 

After an up-close-and -personal exam (done professionally and with a chaperone present), he asked what I was doing the next day. I told him I was supposed to work. He said ,”Not anymore. I’ve had a  cancelation.  We’re going to take care of this tomorrow at noon in the operating room.”

Now HE has a cancelation? 

One space opened for me, and  I have to say no to it and now one I have to to say yes to.

This “yes” hurts. I felt like I had stepped back in time to 2018 when all this started… all the trauma that experience caused surfaced.  All the fear from this disease that will not release me from its talons exploded in my chest.

I asked him, “What is happening?  Why?? We treated this with antibiotics for 3 weeks and now it surfaces??? It makes no sense.”

I sat there and cried as he looked at me. He sighed heavily as he sat there.

Then he said,  “It’s this. All this” as he made a motion over me to indicate my emotions.  He said, “This is stress.”

Great. 

Stress. A stress I can not escape from.

Am I NOT coping well? Is there a way to do better?  To be better at this?

If those aren’t the words I’ve asked myself my whole life…

As if to say, “What’s wrong with me? Tell me and I’ll fix it.”

Well, I can’t.

I’ve never had cancer before, so I don’t know how to do this any differently than how I am.

Maybe that’s why I’m writing all this. I don’t know.  I fear some may think it is for attention.  I fear what I’m going through may not matter. But  I’ve got so much whirling around in my head that I don’t know what to do with it, so I write.

My insecurities say, “What you have to say doesn’t matter. Why blog it when a journal is more than adequate? “

I want to praise Him in the storm.

I want to bless His name on this road marked with suffering, though there is pain in the offering.

I want accountability that I am living what I teach and what I preach through how I live.

Psalm 71:17-18

Since my youth, God, you have taught me, and to this day I declare your marvelous deeds. Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare your power to the next generation, Your mighty acts to all who are to come.

Dan and I head to the hospital the next day to have the abscess surgically drained.

As a side note, it is important to understand that I work at this hospital and know a lot of people in the OR. A lot.  This particular procedure is personal and intimate and embarrassing for me, so to have people I know involved is difficult. I manage these encounters as best as I can, but it is with great difficulty.

Strangely enough, I was calm this time. I was not crying. I had submitted to what was happening and my lack of control in it or around it. What would happen from this point on was not up to me.

I chose to trust the Lord with all of it and felt His peace as it came over me. 

The Lord blessed me that day with a gift of anonymity. Other than my surgeon, I did not know any of the others who participated in my care that day. Not one other person. Not one.

I am amazed by His grace that continues to cover me through chance encounters with my medical team, specific awareness of my own body from past experiences, cancelations to make room for me, and now respite from the extra kindness that would have been shown to me because they were my peers.

All I had to be that day was the patient, and it was marvelous.

When my surgeon talked to my husband afterward,  he said he had “run into” my plastic surgeon at the completion of my case. He was given a divine opportunity to hand my concerns of this situation compicating that surgery over to the next surgeon to be involved.

How amazing is that?

That is called GRACE

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…

How amazing is it to know we serve a King who pays attention to the small details of life?

The aftermath of that surgery did leave me as an emotional wreck- I can’t lie about that.  Knowing the goodness of God doesn’t eliminate how badly I dislike my situation. 

I went into hiding for a few days for my emotions to recover as my body healed.

I met with the PA from the plastic surgeon’s office next for my official pre-op appointment.  While there, she verbalized significant concern over me receiving my next scheduled infusion for my Crohn’s since it was so close to my surgical date.

As I said, my medication keeps my immune system suppressed, so healing is difficult. I kind of need to be able to heal from this double mastectomy and reconstruction surgery.

The surgeons have legit concerns.

So do I.

The mere thought of not taking my medication that keeps The Dragon somewhat tame is horrifying to me. What would happen to my auto-immune system if we allow my immune system to wake up when this abscess has already created a little stir while taking it??

This decision is out of my control.

Here is the thing: do I trust the Lord with all of my health or do I trust the medication?

Do I trust the Lord with all of my life or just the bits I turn over to Him?

I have taken wobbly steps of faith in my trust walk with Him this far….He has not failed me, left me alone, or left me without solutions and options. He has shown me the well in the wilderness.

He has told me that He has redeemed me. He has called me by name. He has said, “you are Mine.“

Submit and accept. This is what I am called to do. Do not worry and fret, but submit and accept. Do not complain, but praise.

My dear friend gave me a card with some great advice on it~

So I did.

I accepted that I may go without my Crohn’s treatment for 3 months.  Whatever happened from doing that, we would deal with. I have a good team surrounding me. I am in good hands.

The Lord is my Great Physician. 

The surgeon’s office called with the verdict: they decided it was for the best that I stay on my treatment plan!!

The PRAISE THE LORD escaped my mouth as I stood in a procedure  room full of doctors, nurse, and anesthesia staff while on the phone!

Psalm 27:13

I remain confident of this; I will see the goodness of the Lord while I am here in the land of the living.

The relief was palpable. My response to the relief was physical as tears escaped my eyes unashamedly. 

The course has been set. The Captain is at the helm. The crew have been readied. Prepare the sails because we are steering toward this mastectomy now.

Living with the Wind Knocked Out of Me: Part 5~ Anxiety

thischicksinpeaceLeave a comment

Anxiety is quite something, isn’t it?

I mean, there is worry – which is one thing – but then there is anxiety.

Trust me, I have done my fair share of worrying: I raised two boys so that is reason enough right there! I’ve worried over what we would do when Dan’s job was unexpectedly downsized leaving him unemployed. I’ve worried over silly things like what to wear to an event, would we be on time or late to an appointment, who would I sit next to when I have to be somewhere.

But anxiety? That’s a different beast.

Those worries can turn into anxiety for sure, but on their own they come and go as quick as the time passes.

Anxiety grips you. Holds you hostage. Clings tightly. Digs in deep.

Worry can be somewhat rational….”I’m worried about what the diagnosis will be”; “I’m worried if the person I love will be ok”; “I’m worried about missing out on something because I might be late.”

Anxiety… takes whatever I’m worried about and twists it into something so much more. I am not trying to do this intentionally, it is something my brain does for me all on its own. Isn’t that special?

Some people, my husband for example, does not have anxiety. Does he worry? Yes. Does he get anxious about what worries him? No. My oldest son seems to be just like him.

I find that strange.

I, on the other hand, have struggled with anxiety for most of my life. I almost wonder if it is something that arises from deep within me when I do not acknowledge what I am worried about, do not feel validated in what I am worried about, or cannot seem to work through what I am worried about.

Whatever it is, it is my worries MAGNIFIED.

I remember having bad dreams as a kid and wandering the house in the night unable to separate myself from that dream. I remember it so that must mean I was awake, but I also remember feeling trapped in it at the same time as if I was partially asleep. I could not settle. I could not relax. I did not feel “safe” even though I was safe inside my home.

I would go upstairs to my parents bedroom and try to settle into a “nest” built on the floor for the dog, but it was not “enough” to calm me or to stop the feeling of being “trapped in the dream.”

As an adult, I can now recognize that I was having a panic attack.

Unbeknownst to my brother, who was my arch nemesis at the time, I finally crawled onto the foot of his bed and curled up. It was there in the (if you have a brother then you understand, but to my brother this is no way disparaging of you as an adult!!!) grossness of his teenage bedroom by his yuck boy feet that I could feel secure again to be able to return to my own room and sleep once more.

I remember doing that more than once.

I also remember waking up in the middle of the night and scaring my parents half to death because I swore I could not breathe. I think my mom was on the cusp of taking me to the Emergency Room when I was finally able to settle down.

As I got older, the expressions of anxiety changed: insomnia continued, restlessness increased, inability to focus, a roaring in my ears, stomach “butterflies”, consuming thoughts while jumping from topic to topic.

It’s fun stuff.

Where did it all start? Why?

Who knows. Maybe there was a reason- it would be nice to “blame” it on some event I suppose. Or, as we now have discovered through science, maybe it just IS. A true medical diagnosis of anxiety that I have not been officially diagnosed with.

In 2014, I had the best time ever going to a Beth Moore conference with some friends and my mother. It was a chance of a lifetime to go and I am so glad we jumped at that chance! If you don’t know her- she is a dynamo of a speaker! An authentic woman of God. An incredible author too!

Anyway, at that conference, at the end, there was this time for prayer and reflection. In that time, I remember someone praying specifically for the chains of anxiety to be dropped; for those bonds that feel like they are holding a person prisoner, to be released.

I felt the release.

Does anxiety still beckon to me? Yes.

Does anxiety still cross my threshold into my home, into my mind? Yes.

Does it rule me? No.

Does it define me? No.

Do I still struggle with the temptation for it to consume me? Yes.

It’s a battle. In some seasons, it feels like an all out war, but I do feel free from its grip on me.

I’ve gone to counseling over the years when my personal coping choices were not effective due to the extreme circumstances I found myself in. I’ve changed many of those coping choices over the years, as well, when I realized what was helping or hurting me.

Well, let me tell you…. once again I can honestly say that I am struggling.

Hello, anxiety, my old friend….I’ve been freed from its chains but it still likes to try to take hold of me.

I made the decision to have the bilateral mastectomy and braced myself for the “comments” that may come my way once I announced my treatment plan.

I worried about what others would say, but I was anxious about what decision to make. See the difference?

There is an interesting detail that still remained: the MRI my surgeon still wanted me to have.

I met with the plastic surgeon on a Tuesday, and he went over what surgery would look like as well as the recovery plan. I handled a silicon breast implant as if it were a stress ball throughout that whole appointment.

Remember when I talked about all those choices we make in a day and how overwhelming more choices were to me? Well, who KNEW that there would still be more choices included even when I made a decision for the mastectomy~

*what kind of implant: saline, silicon, my own tissue?

*nipple or no nipple?

*tattoo nipple?

I never realized how modest I was until I started having health problems…These are crazy conversations to have with a stranger!

When I left that appointment, needless to say, I was overwhelmed and emotional. My anxiety had once again surfaced and the roaring in my ears was present. As I approached the elevator I saw a familiar face: one of the doctors I work with on a regular basis. I did not realize that he was a part of that specific medical group and was not prepared to make casual conversation so I made myself small and quiet: he never saw me standing there.

The next day I went in for the breast MRI.

At this point of the journey, I have had 2 mammograms (naked breasts squished in a machine with the tech standing right there “woman-handling” my breasts to obtain the best imaging views). I had 2 breast ultrasounds: one with the female ultrasound tech waving her lubed up wand over my breast and the second with a doctor joining her to do the same. I next had the biopsy, which was another ultrasound with my breast exposed and cleaned, and a doctor- with the tech- performing the ultrasound guided needle biopsy. I sat through an appointment with my “team” of physicians where 2 of the 3 doctors did a breast exam in front of my husband. Finally, I met with the plastic surgeon where another exam was completed, measurements were taken, and photographs were done all with the nurse present to assist the physician.

Everything and everyone have been incredibly professional. It is just a body part. I am a nurse and I know this. But it is personal to me.

Now it is time for the breast MRI. Are you kidding me with this one??? Top off, lay on your stomach and let your breasts dangle through a hole with my arms over my head.

Are you comfortable, Amy? Never better.

Oh my gosh. I am not ok.

It’s over in about a half hour and home I go with whatever dignity is left.

The next morning I woke up to the “My Chart” app alerting me to the findings from the MRI. They were a little confusing to me so I was pleased that the Nurse Navigator from my team called me within a few short hours:

“Did you see the MRI results?”

Yes.
“We are concerned that there were more spots on your left breast found. If a lumpectomy is planned, we will need to do more biopsies for sure. There is also a “spot” on your right breast. We “think” it looks benign, but that will need to be monitored every year from here on out depending on your treatment plan. We need to make some decisions quickly.”

(I’m at work in the middle of a procedure when this call came through.)

I am planning to have a bilateral mastectomy and met with the plastic surgeon Tuesday to discuss that as my plan. This MRI confirms that my decision is the correct one for me.

MORE spots? Are you kidding me?

I can’t have this surgery fast enough.

Do you know when that surgery will be scheduled?

“No, but I will tell your surgeon what we have discussed and it should be scheduled soon.”

Soon is a funny word, isn’t it? When exactly is something “soon”?? Tomorrow? Next week? Later today? In a month?

I take a deep breath as I hang up the phone and get back to my assignment at hand: my job as a procedural nurse. Back to business.

That same week, on Friday, I have a big thing to do for myself. It may not seem like a big deal for others, but this was huge for me.

My breast cancer is “hormone positive” which means that hormones “feed” it. I’ve been on one form of birth control or another since I was 18 years old. For about 8 years I took “the pill” and then I was introduced to an IUD.

Was it the birth control pill that caused all this? It is hard to say, but taking it definitely increased my risk factor for breast cancer.

My youngest child is a precious 19 years old. He was born in 2005. That means I have had this IUD as a birth control option for 19 years. I was told that my IUD could “carry me through menopause” nicely. It could diminish the side effects many women experience as they become menopausal. In 19 years, thanks to my IUD, I have not even had a menstrual cycle. No period. No cramps. No cravings. No obvious PMS symptoms.

For 19 years.

I was told it needed to come out. Yes, the hormone it releases is not one that feeds my tumor, but it is still best to not have any hormones be fed into my body anymore.

So on the same week that I met with the plastic surgeon and had the MRI, I now get up close and personal with my OB to have the IUD removed.

I cannot even begin to describe how vulnerable and exposed I am feeling these days. My body has become something more public than I would prefer it to be and it makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Is it all medically necessary? Yes. Has everyone been professional about all they have done? 100% YES.

Yet, I still feel raw just the same.

My OB calls me as I am driving to office because she does not know why I am having the IUD removed and wants to inform me that the “exchange of it for another” is not required for another year. She is being kind in trying to prevent me from an unnecessary appointment.

I inform her that I need to have it out because I have been diagnosed with breast cancer. She is immediately empathetic and says she will see me soon in the office.

My nerves are shot by the time I get there.

Here is the thing: I have had many appointments through all this. I’ve been told where to go, where to stand, where to park, when to arrive, what to wear all so something can be done to me.

THIS is something I have to do myself for myself. This is something that is going to change many things about me. My husband and I are fairly young: birth control is suddenly a new issue to deal with as we enter our 50’s. I will probably have periods again and all that goes along with it each month. They may be regular or irregular in their cycle, heavy or light. We don’t know.

And I will definitely being going through and feeling ALL of menopause.

I have to do it. This life change must happen for me to move forward as a breast cancer patient.

The tears start falling as soon as the doctor enters the room. I explain my situation as she compassionately listens. She gets it. She even asks if I want to take the IUD home so I can bury it (I declined that offer in case you wondered!).

She understands that in this one simple act, I have begun to grieve the life that I once knew, the future that I had believed would come.

I have breast cancer and life is going to be different because of it.

ANXIETY hit when I walked out of that office that day. It hit HARD. It hit fast and heavy. I got in the car and cried a million tears before I could even think of driving. I could not figure out what to do next as I sat there in the parking lot.

I was not worrying… I was anxious.

Anxiety won’t let me make a decision. It tells me that the choice to get a coffee from this Starbucks or that one is as big a deal as should I have open heart surgery soon or not. I cannot think clearly or hear my thoughts that should instinctively guide me toward my next natural step.

It freezes me in a moment of “do I go in or do I stay out?”

When Troy was a baby, he was born with a club foot. During my maternity leave, I had to take him weekly to the pediatric orthopedic surgeon’s office where she would wrap his little leg in a stiff yet pliable cast to gently turn his little leg outward. The goal was to increase the length of the ligaments on the inside of his leg and to tighten up the length of those on the outside of his leg (the Ponseti method). After that stage of treatment was completed, he needed to have his Achille’s tendon released surgically at the age of 3 months: a hard plaster cast was put on him for a month or 2. When that was removed, he had to wear special shoes that would attach to a bar to hold his legs apart as well as to keep turning the right foot outward with the shoe holding his foot more flat.

It was at this that I realized that I was having some serious emotional issues with what was going on with him. Over the early months of his life I seemed to handle most things alright. However, I needed to get this “normal” shoe that would go with his orthopedic shoe to fit into this bar (Denis Browne splint). I was to look for the classic baby shoe: white leather with laces.

I went to the mall so I could go to the Payless Shoe Store (did I just date myself??). I remember standing outside the store and would take a step toward it and then back away. I did this for quite a while. I could not go in, but I could not walk away either. Back and forth. Do I go in? Do I go in? Do I go in? I could not make the decision. I could not breathe either and it felt like the weight of the world was suddenly sitting on my chest.

Anxiety at its finest.

21 years later and I am just as frozen. Crippled by it.

Through my years of grief counseling, I have gained some wisdom. One refrain entered my head: do the next thing. If you don’t know what to do, just do the next thing. It does not matter what it is, just do it. Then do what is next after that.

I started with turning my car on and continuing to deep breathe. I chose the closest Starbucks and treated myself to a hot latte made with oat milk (it changes the latte game, I’m telling you!). I chose my next step from there and gradually made it through the day.

I believe I did some therapeutic shopping that day and bought fancy recovery jammies with buttons as well as new lounge wear as if I’ll be some idle queen laying on her chaise lounge enjoying the companionship of those around me instead of recovering from having my body surgically altered because I have to instead of doing it because I want to.

The day ends and I notice that I am without word of a surgical date. I can now assume it will not be the next week but cannot guarantee any secure future plans I’ve committed to for the weeks to come. We look at our calendars and try to determine how to plan Dan’s work-travel as well as my speaking engagements I have looked forward to. It was stressful because we knew we needed to cancel our plans at any minute.

The weekend passes as we tell people, “we don’t know yet” when they inquire frequently and with compassion.

The unknown is so hard. Hard to plan for. Hard to stay present in the moment. The weight of not knowing settles on me uncomfortably. I do not want to harass my doctors office with phone calls. I do not want to try to micro manage this situation – which has only proven to make me more anxious in the past and I’m already intense as it is.

The waiting means I continue to walk around with potentially growing cancer inside of me.

I want to TRUST. I want to believe that God is IN this still. Trust that I will not fall through any cracks in the system. Trust that God’s word to me is true that I will NOT be overwhelmed or consumed by the waters and fire that threaten me.

I decided to give the office until Tuesday before I would call them. By Tuesday it would have been a week since I was seen in the office with the plastic surgeon and the decision to have the mastectomy was made.

Remember that surgeon I saw by the elevator that I hid from?

When I got to work on Monday, there he was in my break room. For this to be truly understood, you have to know that I work 2 days a week. These two days vary from week to week as I do not have a consistent schedule at all. Also, I work with many different doctors as they all have different schedules too. I can see the same one each week, but another only once a month.

That is the case with this particular surgeon: I do not work with him too much. I work with enough to know him and for him to know me, but I am not scheduled to be in his room each time he is in our unit. It’s just how our schedules go there.

But here he is in my breakroom at 0800.

A co-worker of mine is there as well and asks me the infamous question: do you have a date yet??

I said no and then looked at the doctor. She sees me look at him and asks, “could he help?”

He asks, “with what?”

I inform him that I have breast cancer and that surgeons in his office will be doing my surgery but I have not received a surgical date yet and that is making me more and more anxious about all of it. Could he help me to get it scheduled in some way??

In that moment I remember that his sister had been treated for breast cancer so he is even more empathetic than the usual person I inform of my situation.

God has put the right person in the right place at the right time for me.

He immediately agrees to help and within minutes, I was told, he was on the phone with his office manager.

In that moment the relief I felt was palpable when I could still see the hand of God working in my situation. He had not left me alone in my anxiety -even if I could not feel Him directly there.

I was promised that He would be right here and here He was.

Before lunchtime that day I received the call from the surgeons office that I had been waiting for and my surgery is officially scheduled.

April 16, 2025 at 0900 I will be having a bilateral mastectomy.

The pressure eased a little that day. The anxiety subsided somewhat as my trust in the Lord was strengthened. I was, and am, thankful for God’s continued provision.

I am going to need that reminder for the days to come.

Living With the Wind Knocked Out of Me: Part 3~The Choice

thischicksinpeaceLeave a comment

The wilderness themes in the Bible seem to call out to me lately, especially those where people have been “led” or “sent”.

The story of Hagar stands out in many ways.

It is in Genesis 16 where we first meet her: she becomes an unwilling participant in the plan for Sarai and Abram to fulfill for themselves the destiny God had prophesied to them about: that their descendants would outnumber the sand on the seashore. This is a tricky thing when they did not have even one piece of sand to call their own, let alone numbers to fill a beach front.

Hagar did not have a say whether she wanted to play a role in their meddling. She had no choice as she was a voiceless female servant.

She became pregnant with Abram’s first born child, but ran away due to the toxic relationship that had formed thanks to this “love” triangle that never should have been. It was there in the wilderness that she was approached by God with words of comfort and where she named Him: El Roi – The God Who Sees Me.

Later, after Isaac had been born to Sarah and Abraham when Hagar’s son Ishmael was 14 years old, Sarah decided she wanted Hagar and Ishmael to leave their homestead forever.

Early the next morning Abraham took some food and a skin of water and gave them to Hagar. He set them on her shoulders and then sent her off with the boy. She went on her way and wandered in the Desert of Beersheba.

Genesis 21:14

Once again in the wilderness, God approached this woman whose life was not of her own choosing. He tells her not to be afraid, He comforts her and tells her to give comfort to her child, and He refreshes her with water from a well she had not previously seen.

This past fall I was invited to attend a retreat for women pastors. The invitation to attend came within moments of my response to the Lord calling me to NOURISH my relationship with Him.

The definition of the word “nourish” is to be provided with the food or other substances necessary for growth, health, and good condition.

After a long season of grief I found myself lacking what was necessary for any of those things. What I felt instead was stagnant… unfocused…anxious…unmotivated…

I felt all this physically but realized it was stemming from inside my emotional self and had carried over into my spiritual self.

Choosing to spend time alone with the Lord revealed the need for spiritual nourishment. That was when the email came inviting me to a “retreat.” Talk about divine timing!

The theme -shockingly enough- was “KNOWN” and the emphasis was on God the El Roi: the One Who Sees Me.

At this retreat, I had a personal encounter with El Roi and had the confirmation placed on my heart by Him that I am loved by Him. Fiercely loved. The healing that came through that revelation provided what I had been malnourished of: what is necessary for growth, health, and good condition.

A reset button had been pushed and I was being restored.

I came home from that retreat more at peace with myself than I knew I had needed to be. I felt focused and driven to again pursue the desires that the Lord had put on my heart when He called me to be a pastor: one who shares the Good News.

So imagine the irony I feel now.

I am called to preach the Gospel. I WANT to preach it. I have opportunities to be able to do so once again. I have the time. Life seems to be falling into place.

Except.

I have cancer.

The first time I went into the wilderness where I felt malnourished, I think was kind of similar to Hagar; it was my choice to go due to the circumstances. I may not have known consciously that was what I was doing in my grief but it was in the wilderness where I ended up just the same.

And God saw me there. El Roi. I am loved.

And now? I feel like a bag has been put on my back and I am being sent from the comfort I have known, the plans I had made. I am to go somewhere unknown, uncertain, uncomfortable, scary.

And yet I am still seen. I am still loved.

The diagnosis has been confirmed: Stage 1 Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. The appointment has been set up with the team of physicians that will help me with the necessary decisions that need to be made for treatment.

We tell my parents what is going on.

We tell our children what is going on.

We tell my brother what is going on.

We tell our closest friends what is going on.

We try to breathe.

It isn’t easy to tell those you love that you have breast cancer. But do you know what makes it worse? Once they know, life goes on. People go back to work or to school. Meals need to be made. Other people we love are going through really really excruciatingly hard things at the exact same time as this and beautiful babies are being born as well.

So here I am walking around with cancer inside of me and if I did not tell you, you would never even know. It’s not like I look any different.

But everything feels different.

I cannot express how surreal that feels. How ominous.

One minute I’m pulling laundry out of the dryer and the next moment it is like I have been punched in the gut with the thought, “Oh my gosh I have cancer” sweeping over me.

Telling people makes it more real.

But I do not want it to be real.

The “big” doctor appointment introduces us to a radiation oncologist, a breast surgeon, and a medical oncologist. They all assess me individually and look over my biopsy report. Later, they meet together with the pathologist who confirms my diagnostic findings. We meet with the breast surgeon a second time for the conclusion of our day.

I am supposed to make a decision at this point regarding the treatment that I want to have based on the options presented to me. I had no idea there would be OPTIONS.

Supposedly, we make around 35,000 conscious decisions in one day: what we will eat, wear, say, etc…

35,000.

I was given about 5-6 options to choose between at the conclusion of this appointment. It felt like 4-5 too many.

I must say this though: I am incredibly grateful for the women who have gone before me that had to FIGHT for the right to even have these choices.

It is hard to believe there was a time where a woman did not have the voice or the choice to say what happened to her body once breast cancer was detected.

I have to live with this body for the rest of my life so I am thankful to be able to have a say in HOW IT LOOKS WHEN ALL THIS IS OVER.

  1. Lumpectomy with radiation
  2. Single mastectomy and no radiation
  3. Single mastectomy with or without augmentation
  4. Single mastectomy with augmentation to the unaffected breast as well as one with cancer
  5. Double mastectomy and no radiation with or without augmentation

As of now it does not appear that I will need chemotherapy because no lymph nodes are affected.

I sat there staring at the surgeon who was looking at me with an extreme amount of kindness on her face…as she waited for my response.

I could not breathe. I could not think. I could not choose.

I began to cry and said, “I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know.”

She gave me the opportunity to think on it and made an appointment with a plastic surgeon for me as well as scheduled an MRI to look more into what was happening in my breasts. She said, “the MRI will help you to know what to do. It’s ok that you don’t right now; we have time.”

When you have been told you have cancer, I can honestly say this, TIME is one thing you no longer feel you have.

At the conclusion of this appointment, our support system was hoping for a “plan” to have been made and now I have to tell them we are still trying to determine what is the best thing to do for me.

I feel an incredible amount of pressure to make a decision. To make the RIGHT decision. To make it soon.

But what is “right” for ME?

If you’re new to my blog, you may be unfamiliar with my other “invisible” illness: I have Crohn’s disease. It is an autoimmune disease that affects my GI tract as well as the rest of me systemically. I am on medication that suppresses my immune system in order to keep my autoimmune system from going into overdrive. When my medication is not at its appropriate blood level, the fatigue I feel is unbearable and irritable bowel symptoms arise.

Frankly, Crohn’s is the banner to which I would like to march under as it is the dragon I have come to know and NOT Breast Cancer… but, alas~ I guess I have to carry two banners now.

Here’s the thing: I WILL recover from breast cancer, but I will always LIVE with Crohn’s Disease. Whatever I do with this cancer is going to affect my autoimmune system…and I cannot get that thought out of my head no matter how hard I try.

I am a woman with Crohn’s disease that will have to endure whatever choice of treatment I decide on.

Can my immunosuppressed body fight left over or new cancer cells if I do not choose a mastectomy or do not choose radiation?

As I was told by a trusted source, I am not in the statistics for the efficacy of treatment for breast cancer. I am not one they included in the tests and trials. I am in the “unknown” category of how I will respond and what role my Crohn’s medication may have had on this or could have on this in the future.

I am a Crohn’s patient that now has breast cancer and that cannot be ignored or forgotten or push aside or minimized.

I have TWO active diseases now.

Now enter in my “people pleasing” problem.

This one really ticks me off!

I cannot believe how much I worry about what other people think… I worry so much about judgment that I found it difficult to make a choice for MYSELF and MY body without fear of “doing it wrong.”

Wrong for who??

A bilateral mastectomy is considered “radical.” Did you know that? The thing is it means it is a radical surgical procedure that involves the removal of the entire breast, including the nipple, areola, skin, and underlying chest muscles and it is performed to treat breast cancer.

Yet, the word “radical” (especially in view of this context) is more defined as “very different from the usual or traditional; extreme.”

A bilateral mastectomy seems radical to some when they hear “Stage 1 cancer”. That it is an extreme treatment. That is is different from the usual.

The fear of judgement from others was IMPACTING my own judgment.

I could not hear myself think because all I could hear was “that seems extreme” if I waivered in the direction where I seemed to want to go.

“It’s a big surgery.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“You would do that? Do you HAVE to?”

Do you know how many people have told me “all they needed” was a lumpectomy and radiation and they were “fine”?

Too many to count.

But were they my age at diagnosis?

Did they have an aunt with 3 separate occurrences of breast cancer?

Do they get treated for an autoimmune disease?

We are given a CHOICE and that choice is there for a reason. The reason is because this is my body and my life. It is not my husband’s. It is not my children’s. It is not my parents. It is not those that care for me. It is mine.

I have to choose.

I have to stand at the end of it all to say, “I made the best decision I could make and I could have done nothing else. I have no regrets.”

I prayed for clarity.

I asked others to pray for me to have a clear mind to make a decision.

Praise the Lord, God put people directly into my path that spoke honest words of wisdom to me in those next few days.

Dan went out of town for business so I went to the plastic surgeon appointment alone. That doctor sat down in front of me and simply asked, “do you know what you want to do?”

I said, “a bilateral mastectomy please.”

I made my choice.

Living With the Wind Knocked Out of Me: Part 1

thischicksinpeace1 Comment

Isaiah 58:11 NLT

“The Lord will guide you continually, giving you water when you are dry and restoring your strength.”

Abraham found himself being led away from his home to a land he did not know.

The Hebrews were led to Egypt where they were eventually enslaved.

The Hebrew nation was then led to the Red Sea where they feared impending death until God miraculously parted the waters for them.

They were then led to Mount Sinai where they would personally encounter the living God. But they were terrified when in His presence and became disobedient: choosing a golden calf to worship that they could control instead of the omniscient, omnipresent Holy God.

They were next led to the wilderness where they would “wander” for 40 years in order to learn to trust and depend on the Lord before being allowed to enter the land promised to them.

Elijah was led into the wilderness after publicly declaring a three-year drought in front of the evil King Ahab and, his even more evil queen, Jezebel. He was told by God to stay by a temporary brook in Cherith. Cherith means “a cutting away”: here, Elijah was “cut off” from all things self-sufficient in order to be prepared for further use by God. Here he learned absolute dependency on God.

After being baptized, Jesus was led to the wilderness where He fasted for 40 days and then was tempted by Satan.

Everything in Jesus’s ministry LED Him to the cross.

We, too, are often led places we did not plan to go. We are often trucking along through life when something happens that turns us off the planned path. Sometimes it is a quick detour that provides an opportunity to see or experience things we never would have if that event had not happened and, for that, we are grateful. We might even say “this way is MUCH better.”

Sometimes it is a longer detour that makes us late for our destination. It is an inconvenience without entertainment. We aren’t pleased, but we still get to where we had been going. This detour could be because of something or someone else on the road or maybe we made a mistake and missed our exit. Natural consequences are real after all. We may veer off our path but can make it to the destination anyway.

Sometimes, something happens and we end up going in a different direction toward a place we did not plan on going at all. Many times we do not like this: THIS was not the plan after all. We can reject the new plan and fight like h*&^ to get back on track to where WE want to be or we can settle in and accept this new place to make it home.

And sometimes, something happens that simply hard stops us and we have no idea which way we will end up facing when it is all done. It’s scary and overwhelming. It’s not always without a sense of hope; that where we end up might not be bad…but we do know it will be different.

It can happen in a blink of an eye with one phone call: you have breast cancer.

Proverbs16:9

“In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.”

On January 17th I had a routine mammogram scheduled. I was “late” in having it by about 3-6 months from my previous (and normal) one. I have a physical annually where a breast exam is routinely done which had been the previous March- again, normal.

As the Lord saw fit, He brought a young woman into our lives, home, and hearts a year prior. Her mother had passed away from a very late diagnosis and fully developed metastatic breast cancer. She moved in with us after her passing.

As the anniversary date of her death approached, I felt convicted to quit dragging my feet and go get that darn mammogram. I felt it would dishonor her if I did not go get it done.

So there I am in my “glory”; feeling good about doing the right thing.

A few days later, I get a phone call where I was told I needed a second mammogram; a 3-D one. Let me just say, in that moment, that was all I heard them say. The last mammogram I had required a second one as well, so to have this happen again simply annoyed me and I tuned out to whatever else was said and rescheduled it.

Yes, a paper even came in the mail to say what the original mammogram showed and my Primary Care office even called me to make sure I was doing a follow up. I still paid no attention to the details and went on with my life without telling anyone else of this “annoyance” but my husband.

My 3-D mammogram was scheduled for February 6. On February 3, I went to a hotel near Lake Michigan in order to spend some much needed time alone with the Lord before having a lunch date the next day with a friend who lived in that area.

My time away with Jesus is something I am trying to schedule in every few months in order to nourish my relationship with Him and to be nourished by Him so I can effectively do the compassionate ministries I am involved in: one cannot pour from an empty cup and my cup had been getting less full thanks to life challenges.

My husband is used to my “time away” needs and is fully supportive of my role in ministry so off I went while he was in Atlanta for his job.

Usually, when I’ve had a personal spiritual retreat like this I have some kind of a plan: what to read or focus on. This time seemed different. I packed differently bringing multiple journals with me as well as my Bible and devotionals. The journals (especially multiple) were not my “norm”.

My dearest sister friend gave birth to her precious 4th baby boy the night before after having a rather stressful last few weeks of her pregnancy. He came a little earlier than her others had and our stress leading up to his arrival had been significant. With her other boys, “my darling boys” I call them, I conveniently was working when they were born and could quick visit her/them rather soon upon their entry into this world outside of her womb. This sweet one, however, was different. I wanted to see him badly but I knew in my heart that I needed to wait on visiting and get going to be on time with my date with Jesus.

That is a significant detail.

It had become a “pride thing” to be able to say I was one of the “first to meet her sons” and here I was choosing to not do that and would accept that I would instead see him in a few days.

I KNEW I needed to get going, but I was not sure why I had that urgency.

I got to the hotel, figured out a dinner plan, and turned on some music. Again, my “normal” would be worship music, but for whatever reason music without lyrics was what I craved: an instrumental hymns station was chosen.

I began to read through journals to see what I had written, where the Lord had carried me from or through as I was  distracted by a significant need in the life of my other best friend. I was definitely seeking peace as I tried to intercede for her and her sweet family.

In my reading and praying one particular passage stood out to me like a beacon.

Isaiah 43: 1-3

“But now this is what the Lord says- he who created you, Jacob, he who formed you, Israel; “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name and you are mind. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your savior.”

Well.

What on earth was that about?

I wrote it down in a few places and pondered over it. I saw it in correlation of what had been and was happening in my friends lives. I claimed it on their behalf with thankfulness.

And yet.

I suspected there was more to it than that.

I am a caregiver. I am a person who ministers to others first and hardly looks after myself. In fact, my new discipline of scheduled “time away” with the Lord is in response to my poor self care. It is easier for me to take care of others than to do more than the surface things in care for myself.

Let’s be honest: how often do YOU pray for yourself or ask others to pray for you when there is not a crisis? We often see the need in others as superior to our own, don’t we?

The truth of our faith is this: Jesus died for ME too. Jesus died for YOU too. He did not just call others His beloved; He called ME His beloved. He loves YOU as much as He loves the hurting person in your life that has a situation breaking your heart. He loves me that much too.

But we do not often live that way.

It is easier to encourage someone else than to be encouraged myself.

Here I am in the hotel room…feeling a strange peace with zero resolution or revelation. I confessed to the Lord that I was sorry I accept MORE from Him than Him. That I desire His gifts and not that He is the Gifter.

I opt to take a bath (another out of the normal thing for me to do).

As I was preparing the water, I stood in front the mirror. You know how those hotel mirrors can be: UNFORGIVING.

Enter in the self-loathing.

As I stood there, for whatever reason, I touched the top part of my left breast (not my right). I felt the lump in that moment.

Suddenly, the memory of what the technician had told me on the phone when we rescheduled my mammogram rushed to the front of my mind: we need to reevaluate the LEFT breast. I could see the paper with the initial mammogram result that had been mailed to me in my mind: a “mass” in the left breast.

I looked into the mirror and made eye contact with myself.

That Scripture came back to me~

DO NOT FEAR

WHEN you pass through the waters

WHEN you pass through the rivers

WHEN you walk through the fire

This was not an IF situation. This was a WHEN. And the WHEN was NOW. And the “you” was ME.

As I stared into the mirror at my reflection, I said to the Lord, “This is really going to happen isn’t it? I’m going to have cancer.”

What a strange reality to settle over a person prior to the biopsy even happening, yet it was there. A certainty.

I opted to not say anything to anyone. I took a bath with those instrumental hymns soothing me. I went to bed and slept extremely well in the Lord’s embrace.

The wind had just been knocked out of me.

In the morning, I knew it was time to tell my husband.