Choosing the Good Part

Advice that is given to me over and over is, "Try to get out of the house some. The caregiver needs to take care of the caregiver." 

Which would be great advice if there was something I really felt like doing. On this tilting planet we seem to have inhabited, it is hard to work up the desire to wander through a store. I don't care about the 80% off sale at Hobby Lobby in housewares. Very few things outside our home seem to matter.

You probably know the Martha/Mary tug-of-war in the book of Luke. Martha thought she should work, work, work. And she thought everyone else should be work, work, working with her. But Mary chose to sit at the feet of Jesus. One translation is that Mary "listened until she understood".  And Jesus said Mary "had chosen the good part: the part that will not be taken away."

In the craziness of this loud world, let's chose the good part today. But remember that God's voice is often a whisper and we have to listen carefully to hear it. 

Crossroads

Several years ago, my husband was laid off during a semi-conductor downturn. I was teaching kindergarten, and one of my student's dads offered me a summer job at his company. I took it to help us through a temporary hard spot. At the end of the summer, they made me an offer to stay that I could not refuse. 

For the first time in my adult life, I did not start the school year before a classroom of children. Instead, I began it in an office full of men. 

Welcome to Mars. 

At Thanksgiving, the manager grilled a turkey in the warehouse and asked everyone who could to bring sides. There were six crockpots of queso, one untouched veggie tray, and  a multitude of very happy men. 

At Christmas, they ordered 100 hot wings from Hooters. With no sides. I did not bring a veggie tray that time.

Needless to say, we did not sit around in a teacher's lounge and chat. Working lunches often involved stops in stores that sold trailer hitches and ammunition.  The populations in the office was very thin on opening days of dove and deer seasons.  I hung a sign over my trash can, "Do not spit  in here" after I grew tired of retrieving paperwork that was less than Copenhagen free.

But you know what? I really enjoyed my job. It was wonderful to learn a difficult new skill and do it very well. I handled a multi-million dollar account that had to balance to the penny each month. And it did. 

And the pay? Well, let's just say it was more then I would ever make as a teacher even if I hit the top of the scale as a career teacher with several degrees and extra stipends. My commission alone was often twice my teacher salary. While I certainly appreciated that, there were many times that it made me sad that selling computer parts was valued more then teaching children. Much more.

After two years, I began to feel the tug back to the classroom. I liked the job, I liked the men who were my coworkers in Mars and I liked that no one spit in my trash can anymore. But I missed the children and the teaching.

As I was wrestling with the decision to stay or to go, my grandmother became very ill. My co-workers were  precious about covering for me so I could come in late or leave early to visit her in the hospital. After a few weeks, my beloved grandmother passed away. My co-workers in Mars all came to the funeral in suits. Even the warehouse crew. 

But my path suddenly became clear: life is short. Go with your giftings and passion. Returning to the classroom a few months later was like the very best gift I could possibly give myself. And there was so much healing for me in that decision.

In many ways I feel that I am back at that crossroads again. Knowing that there are going to be some big changes on the horizon that are totally out of my control.

But this I know for sure: God has  plans for good; plans that give a future and hope. We never arrive at a change without preparation, because the plan has been in play since the beginning of time. This is not catching God by surprise. He's in charge.

Even in situations that seem as foreign as Mars.

Counting Blessings

One of the blogs that I enjoy reading is found here. It is written by a single woman my age who lives in New York City.  I'm fascinated by how different her life is from mine. I live in a suburb of Austin where one of our claims to fame is a new IKEA. I try to imagine the day to day of living in such a big city. One thing that draws me back again and again is that she strives to write about what is good in her life. Her blog's tagline is "Buttercup counts her blessings: sometimes you get the frozen key lime pie on a stick and sometimes you just get the stick. Trying to stay cheerful in  tough times."

So, amid  the health concerns in my home, here is what is good about our lives:

• A friend brought over fresh, homegrown tomatoes. (Reminds me that real tomatoes, not the imitation mush found in the grocery store or on restaurant salads, have an enormous amount of sweet taste.)
• Friends from another state had Jason's Deli deliver a delicious meal to our home the other night. 
• The lady at Curves gave me a nice blue water bottle Friday.
• A friend brought over a bag full of magazines. (Short articles match my presently short attention span.)
• Cards and letters keep filling our mailbox with sweet words and prayers.
• Sunday School members who deliver soup and salads.
• Our pastor who drops by regularly and brought communion last week.
• Gifts left on the front porch with no name.
• People who offer to come do yard work or clean.

And the list could go on and on. But I know this much is true:

"A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity." (Proverbs 17:17)

or

"Friends love through all kinds of weather, and families stick together in all kinds of trouble." (The Message)

Amen and amen.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day to my husband, D. 

You came into our lives when my two children were small. We were abandoned, destitute and basically homeless. The journey hasn't been an easy one, has it? But we've raised our combined clan to see all four children attend college (one in grad school now), and grow into really neat newly minted adults.

I appreciate that you were fair and wise during the teenaged days. (FOUR TEENAGERS AT ONE TIME!) And you were encouraging of the independence when they graduated high school and entered into college with their future plans. We have an artist, a writer, a chaplain and one interested in international business. Quite a mixed lot. And so much of it due to your encouragement of their individual talents.

There aren't enough words to say how much we all love you and pray for your healing.

Thanks, D. Hope this Father's Day is especially dear to you.

Changing of the Guard

My daughter K has been here for a week and a half helping out around our home: cooking, cleaning, assisting with doctor visits, and generally cheering us all up with her sweetness. Today she flies home to her husband and dog, who I am sure are both waiting with open arms. Or paws.

There is something so incredibly precious about adult children returning home. (Because they WANT to!)  I just got an email from a friend in Oklahoma who was surprised with a visit by her daughter for Father's Day weekend. N has just graduated from college and taken her first job in a neighboring state. I'm sure they will have lots to share during this unexpected but special visit. My friend J calls this a "serendipity": a blessing that falls into your life. Like children.

So, K goes home today, but D's daughter H came in last night and will spend Father's Day weekend with him. It's kind of like the kids are playing tag team. We plan to fly D's daughter E down from her college in Washington State after we get the newest update from the oncologist on Tuesday. And Young Son in Costa Rica completing Study Abroad is staying current of the situation.

I read a lot of young mommy blogs, and I remember the blessings and frustrations of constant demands from little ones. But this side of childhood is the payoff.  I love "The Message" version of a very familiar proverb:

"Point your kids in the right direction-

When they're old they won't be lost."

Proverbs 22:6

May they always know the way home.

A Step Up

I've tried to avoid blogging about the day-to-day reality of our journey with lung cancer. But I knew we hit a new level yesterday when (1) my husband let me drive him to the hospital for the x-rays required for the lung surgeon, (2) he let me push him in a wheelchair from the tech's office to the doctor and (3) he let me call the oncologist to have the pain meds upped to three times the amount he was taking a week ago. The only time D thinks I'm a good driver is when he is medicated and/or sleeping. 

We went into the lung surgeon waiting to hear that the surgery to keep the lungs from being continually surrounded by the pressure of extra fluid had failed. We expected to be admitted to the hospital for yet another draining. What we heard was that the surgery went fine: the pain and pressure D is now feeling is being caused by a new tumor. That is visible to the eye. So sorry, said lung surgeon, you belong to the oncologist now. I felt kicked to the curb. Even though my rational mind said , "This is a kind and compassionate man who has done all he can do", my fight-for-my-husband's-life mind said, "There HAS to be something you can do! We just spent two hours in your waiting room looking at 5 year old magazines. You owe us!"

My theory, on this journey, is that under every doctor's office is a magnetic field that totally strips you of any energy in the event bad news is delivered. My husband, daughter and I went home to take long naps. Upon waking and checking home phones and cell phones, we realized there must have been a veritable symphony of phone ringing that we slept through. I guess stress will do that to you.

Our next stop is the oncologist on Tuesday for our Regularly Scheduled Visit. He has already suggested hospice and I think we will take him up on it. There is one thing I want to say about this: My daughter told me she saw people's reactions when I used the "h" word at church on Sunday.  Listen friends: Hospice does not have to mean end times and throwing in the towel. Hospice can mean better pain management. And that is what we are after.

That and some funny videos, an end to the soaring heat in Texas and some healthy food that tastes good. And magazines with brief articles that match my brief attention span these days.

And if those are my only requests in life? Life must be pretty good. We are at peace.

The Evolution of Food

Many years ago, before Whole Foods was king, I had a parent in my kindergarten class who ate only healthy and organic food. She was viewed as something of a curiosity. When class parties provided sweets, she sent nutritious substitutions for her son. When the moms took me out for my birthday to a chain restaurant that provided many fried things to dip in Ranch dressing, she brought her own filtered water and enjoyed the conversation. But not the food. When the class had an end of the year party that involved hot dogs, she sent soy dogs (which did not brown well on the grill). Her son gobbled them up like the "real" thing.

Fast forward about 10 years and I found myself at Whole Foods with my husband taking a "Raw Food" cooking class. Now there's an oxymoron: "cooking" raw foods. The instructor guided us through preparation of fruits and vegetables without using stoves or microwaves that zapped/boiled the nutrition right out of food. My husband was convinced that a diet using food as a medicinal treatment would cure one of his cancers. Sure enough, the PSAs for prostate cancer returned to normal. And I wrote that Granola Mom a note apologizing for being a doubter. She said recently that she still has it taped to her refrigerator, glad to have a convert.

My husband was organic before organic was cool. As long as I've known him, he has always been a runner, a long-distance cyclist and a student of  the most nutritious foods available. Through this almost seven year battle with a sarcoma has taken his ability to run and ride, I believe that his attention to food as a cure has prolonged his life by many years. 

I, on the other hand, find that I have eaten my way through these years with cancer. You know, those late nights when chocolate and a box of Kleenex may or may not been good friends of mine.  But during this most recent battle with my husband's lung cancer, I've decided It Is Time to get serious about nutrition and exercise.

Enter, my old friend Curves. I spent three years at a location that was no longer convenient when the new toll road cut off easy access. That was a few years ago, but I've found a closer location to re-up. And during this "break", I've found that Curves has entered the computer age: you are given a computer chip to record your performance on each machine. You download your information on the club's computer and it details all manner of graphs, diagrams and pie charts on your progress. As my bloggy friend BooMama would say: FANCY.

I was a bit suspicious of some of the initial results. The pie chart showed my abs as my strongest muscle group. This from a girl who failed the President's Physical Fitness Program in sit-ups in elementary school. (Google that little phrase and you can just about pinpoint the decade of my birth.) I'm thinking if my abs are the strongest, then my other muscle groups must be made of marshmallow fluff.

 But, I'm continuing to see progress and that is a good thing. This is not your Mother's Curves gym. Oh, wait. Yes, it is. Everyone there is about my age and wearing the long t-shirts to prove it. (It also doesn't help that a boy I taught in third grade is now a grown man who maintains Curves machines across America. Age, you can be so cruel in your little pokes and prods.)

So, we are diligent and vigilant about nutrition and exercise at our house right now. The Church Ladies have asked if they can bring food during this season of life. WE LOVE YOU CHURCH LADIES, but we know that people bearing comfort foods  are usually long on desserts, breads, fried foods and cheese. And short on extreme nutrition. So, we've asked for soups and salads to be on the rotation of foods they'll be dropping off at our house each day. 

We know that the loving preparation will be part of our healing. Body, soul and spirit.