Dramamine is not going to fix this

The road back from radiation/surgery/biopsy is neither straight nor smooth. Of course, I don't think we're going back to where we were January 23rd, two days after my fifty-seventh birthday and the day before my routine mammogram that would open the door on this horrendous journey. Some days are good, some are not so good. There are no pain-free days, but mostly the pain is fleeting, usually striking only once or twice in a day.

Then there was yesterday. The breast was painful from the moment I awoke, and at times I was on the verge of tears, including while in the grocery store. It did not calm down until mid-afternoon, but reminded me of its distress to some degree the rest of the day.

Take something, for heaven's sake, you may be thinking. I've never really "liked" taking aspirin or its substitutes. Following surgery, the strong painkillers (opioids?) did not seem to help. I tried something over-the-counter, but it didn't seem to help either. (I say "seem" because it might have been worse without them, I don't know.) I took Advil for several weeks towards the end of radiation, and I hope I did no lasting damage to other organs. It certainly did not address the discomfort or swelling.

Today was not as bad as yesterday. Some of the same sensations, but not the same intensity.

I have heard too many doctors say "that's normal" way too often on this journey, and I know women have said they feel pain and sensations for years following this course of treatment. But this can't possibly be normal, can it? Because I'm not sure I'm up to this.

     

She Who Sings, Prays Twice

JM Barrie said, "If you can't teach me to fly, teach me to sing."

I have never felt that I pray "well." When someone says they have a rich prayer life, I get a little envious, because I don't really know what that means. But I do find solace in music, hearing it and making it. So with apologies to Sir Barrie, I offer a personal twist:

If you can't teach me to pray, teach me to sing.

In the 2016 Post-Election Mayhem...

...someone said, "I grieve the loss of tolerance, and I grieve my own inability to overcome that loss and initiate meaningful dialogue."

The question is, who said that? A Conservative, or a Progressive?

Pass the tissues, please...

I know that some day,

death shall be no more, and God will wipe away every tear, 

but in the meantime,

                    I'm running out of Kleenex...

Light

Our pastor is on a brief sabbatical. Before she left, she selected some of the hymns for us to use, particularly for festival days. Like today, Pentecost. Our sending song was "Go Light Your World," by Chris Rice: "so carry your candle, run to the darkness, seek out the hopeless, confused and torn. Hold out your candle, for all to see it; take your candle, go light your world." 

As I reviewed the lyrics this past week, it occurred to me that this is the grown-up version of "This Little Light of Mine." When we were little Sunday Schoolers, we'd sit on the floor singing, leaning sideways so we could stretch our arms as high as possible, with our pointer fingers sticking up like candles.  As we grew, we'd gradually pull our arms down, till by the time we are adults, we stuff that light in our pockets, because we don't want anyone to notice us. And that's a shame, really. Because you never know who you're going to bump up against in life, who might just need that little spark from your light to be able to make the next step in their journey. So take your candle, go light YOUR world...


...a nice rendition of the grown-up "This Little Light of Mine"

Lions, Tigers & Greenpeace, Oh My!

dedicated to my darling husband!

I really don't like those solicitors who stand outside grocery stores. They never engage you on your way in, they wait until you're coming out with groceries, things you want to get home to the refrigerator as soon as possible, before they try to talk to you. So as you are struggling with a wonky-wheeled cart and disappearing car keys, they want your opinion on important issues, like clothing-optional beaches and term limits (I thought that's what elections are for!).

The other day on my way into the grocery store, I saw two incredibly young, beautiful women wearing 'Greenpeace' t-shirts and cut-off shorts with barely an inch of inseam (no, I'm not jealous, why do you ask?) with their heads together as they consulted a clipboard. Oh, great, I thought. Maybe I can time my exit to pass though the door with some other shoppers, and slip by unnoticed. There's only two of them. Alas, on my way out, I was nailed by their next move in this virtual chess match as, sure enough, a perky voice followed by a sweet face caught me.

"Do you like tigers?" Check.

"You bet, honey, I love 'em. That's why I married one." Her eyes got big and her mouth dropped open. 

Checkmate! 

Temple

Temple

my body is a temple; the Holy Spirit has a life-time lease...

there's a little snow on the roof now, and some of the doors are creaky and some of the windows are drafty,

but the general structure is fairly sound...

of course, the zoning of this temple's neighborhood has changed some over the years...

no major yard work or heavy lifting is allowed anymore...

but I can be the reader on Sunday morning, and I can still lift the telephone to call my prayer partners,

and I can recount this temple's history to the young builders around me...

"didn't you realize that you were God's temple and that the Spirit of God was living among you?...the temple of God is sacred; and you are that temple." I Corinthians 3:16 & 17b