Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
It's with a reluctant heart I write to you. I have been avoiding you and dancing around this moment for quite some time. It's not that I wish to bask in your presence for much longer... it's just that it hasn't seemed quite right to close out this correspondence with you when there are check-ups ahead, an always possibility of recurrance, and still a mental battle to be fought. I still covet the prayers of my friends and have yet to walk in independence from my doctors. I am still navigating through side-effects from treatment and still pulling the strands of my hair with the frustration that it is not growing as fast as I predicted. There are plenty of moments that delightfully remind me of this blissful condition you have trapped me into, and at times, it can be too much. At times, it can be overwhelming. At times, it can make a future seem pretty bleak.
This season has made me all too familiar with those types of feelings... but here's the deal, sir. It's in the depth of that state, in an even more overwhelming surge, my God pierces through those plaguing thoughts, and with His powerful hand, He sets my feet on solid ground. You see, He is a God of victory. A God of hope. A God of good plans. He gave up His Son so that I could freely live. Why would He abandon me now? Why would He now leave me to my own avail? My life is not marked by defeat. No, it is sealed with victory. It says in Hebrews 7:25 that Jesus is forever living to intercede for me. It says in Psalm 18 that my God rescues me from my strong enemy, because He delights in me. It says in Revelation 12:11 that I will overcome by the blood of the Lamb and the Word of my testimony. Sir, at the sound of His great Name, you have no place in my life. Jesus was and is indeed worthy as He took you to the cross with Him long ago. My Healer is my Defender and He will fight for me until the end. And that's a guarantee.
So...still you ask, how could I put an end to this communication? How do we say goodbye? Simple. Good ol' Paul aforementioned your fate in Philippians 2:10-11: "So that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth." At the end of the age, that will include everything and everyone. But today, concerning you, I don't have to wait. By His good and awesome hand, He forced you into submission, Mr. Hodgkin's. I admit you fought a good fight... but you are downright evil, sir, and my God's Word promises that evil will never prevail. Jesus cleared that up.
Goodbye, Mr. Hodgkin's. It is now time to take my eyes off of you and unto the Lord....
Dear Jesus,
"I will walk about in FREEDOM for I have sought out Your promises" (Psalm 119:45). I cannot wait to taste and see that You are good.
Yours Truly,
Heid
Monday, July 23, 2012
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Oh, the final stretch.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
It's been quite a bit of time that has lapsed since we last corresponded, but you would be foolish to think I'd spend my time away from the Oncology Center dwelling in your company. Rewinding back, as I parted ways with my radiologist that glorious day in May, she called down the hall, "We'll see you in a month, Heidi. Enjoy your summer!" Whaaat? A month?! I haven't even had a free week from you in this year of 2012 (let alone a whole month!), so this comment dove deep into the recesses of my spirit, and it was as if strolling out that door, I finally had the permission to let my guard down. I could finally take a break from fighting. My God has indeed been faithful in keeping me strong as I continually caught His whispers to stay courageous, and as I walked out that door, I began to feel a remarkable benefit that comes when reaching the end of a battle: rest.
Stepping out into the street, I could feel my muscles relax; I lifted my head to the clear blue sky and took in a deep sigh. One month. Free from appointments, free from tests and scans, free from you. I remember grinning as wide as my round face allowed, brainstorming all the ways I could use my time, and already dreaming of what the Lord had in store for me... bring it. You see, the verse my God gave me for my Year 24 begins like this: "Taste and see that the Lord is good..." So I am confident I will see the goodness of the Lord this year... starting with your demise and moving onward to the next blessing. All in all, excuse me for milking this month of freedom away from you for all that it's worth. Sir, I'm in no way embellishing when I say this has been the best month of my life.
So why have I returned then, you ask? Well, before my check-up appointment with my oncologist and radiologist that is scheduled for July 5, I had to subject myself once again to gulping down radioactive liquid, reclining in a dark room as the nurses waited for it to process through my body, and then lying strapped down to patient table as I was shoved through a swirl of devices. Yes, you guessed it: another PET scan. The results of this test would determine if you had come back; if this was the case, it would reveal how aggressive you really are, your permanency, and what other treatment methods I would need to submit to. On the Sunday before, I gave this update to my volunteer team and asked if they would pray for my appointment on June 26. As my Team Lead bowed her head, she said, "Lord, I pray for continued victory as Heidi goes through her test tomorrow..." As she continued praying though, my thoughts froze and my heart dropped... What?? Tomorrow?! I had been so caught up in the freedom of this month that I lost track of the days; I had no idea this monumental moment would take place in that next 24 hours.
Mr. Hodgkin's, I have to be real honest with you, and let you know how completely scared I was. I tasted what "ordinary life" was like in the weeks of June, and I desperately wanted the ease that comes from that normalcy. I was so confident walking out in May that the Lord had healed me, and how He was ready to lead me onto the next strength, the next victory (because for those who hope in Jesus, He takes us from strength to strength says Psalm 84:7). But starting that Sunday and in the days to follow, I was less than convinced... to put it mildly. My mind began to wonder: "Well, what if this is the cross I am to carry? To live this life with cancer destined to suffer?" It was as if I was already signing myself up to be a martyr forgoing every hope in the Lord's goodness. Eh. Man, am I grateful apprehension doesn't thwart my God from acting on my behalf.
But my Blaine team has just started reading Andy Stanley's book called Visioneering, and it was in the pages of chapter 4 that God met my heart where it was at and brought me back to the vision He has for my life. You see, I still have a burden in my heart to write truth, to share more about His goodness to anyone who will listen, and to stay faithful in a faithless generation. But I got stuck with the how... How will God lead me out of this funk of a disease, how will He diffuse this anxiety I may feel before each check-up throughout the next 10 years, how will He give me opportunities to make my life eternally significant... A lot of questions to ask and feel the weight of within a 5-day span. Thankfully, my God asks me not to worry about tomorrow and goes to whatever measure necessary for me to realize that. This time, He used Andy's words to bring me back to where I need to be: at peace under His Lordship.
Something shifted inside and John 15:5 came to the forefront of my mind once again: "I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing." I remembered my simple call to trust and believe... and He will take care of the path.
My appointment to get the results from this PET scan is scheduled for this Thursday, July 5. But this is how loving my God is and how thoughtful my oncologist is... As my family and I were driving down the winding road to Yosemite National Park, my phone started buzzing and I looked down to see the Minnesota Oncology Center calling. As my dad pulled over to the side of the road so I wouldn't lose service, I answered with a surge of pensiveness yet excitement. After a few cordial remarks, my precious oncologist said, "I saw that our appointment wasn't until the 5th, and wanted you to come in with a positive outlook. Your tests came back normal!" Normal... exactly the language and the results I had been yearning for. I gleefully sat back into the passenger seat and couldn't help but squeal, "You're the best doctor EVER!" It is plain to me, sir, that my God indeed still hears His people's prayers, and answers in not only the sweetest of ways, but in such perfect timing...and this is when my muscles once again began to relax.
So Thursday will come and I still have an appointment marked down in their calendar, but I will arrive just as I left: with my eyes grinning up at the blue sky, my heart free as a bird, and my trust in the healing power of my God intact. I'm ready to hear the next steps...
Yours Truly,
Heid
It's been quite a bit of time that has lapsed since we last corresponded, but you would be foolish to think I'd spend my time away from the Oncology Center dwelling in your company. Rewinding back, as I parted ways with my radiologist that glorious day in May, she called down the hall, "We'll see you in a month, Heidi. Enjoy your summer!" Whaaat? A month?! I haven't even had a free week from you in this year of 2012 (let alone a whole month!), so this comment dove deep into the recesses of my spirit, and it was as if strolling out that door, I finally had the permission to let my guard down. I could finally take a break from fighting. My God has indeed been faithful in keeping me strong as I continually caught His whispers to stay courageous, and as I walked out that door, I began to feel a remarkable benefit that comes when reaching the end of a battle: rest.
Stepping out into the street, I could feel my muscles relax; I lifted my head to the clear blue sky and took in a deep sigh. One month. Free from appointments, free from tests and scans, free from you. I remember grinning as wide as my round face allowed, brainstorming all the ways I could use my time, and already dreaming of what the Lord had in store for me... bring it. You see, the verse my God gave me for my Year 24 begins like this: "Taste and see that the Lord is good..." So I am confident I will see the goodness of the Lord this year... starting with your demise and moving onward to the next blessing. All in all, excuse me for milking this month of freedom away from you for all that it's worth. Sir, I'm in no way embellishing when I say this has been the best month of my life.
So why have I returned then, you ask? Well, before my check-up appointment with my oncologist and radiologist that is scheduled for July 5, I had to subject myself once again to gulping down radioactive liquid, reclining in a dark room as the nurses waited for it to process through my body, and then lying strapped down to patient table as I was shoved through a swirl of devices. Yes, you guessed it: another PET scan. The results of this test would determine if you had come back; if this was the case, it would reveal how aggressive you really are, your permanency, and what other treatment methods I would need to submit to. On the Sunday before, I gave this update to my volunteer team and asked if they would pray for my appointment on June 26. As my Team Lead bowed her head, she said, "Lord, I pray for continued victory as Heidi goes through her test tomorrow..." As she continued praying though, my thoughts froze and my heart dropped... What?? Tomorrow?! I had been so caught up in the freedom of this month that I lost track of the days; I had no idea this monumental moment would take place in that next 24 hours.
Mr. Hodgkin's, I have to be real honest with you, and let you know how completely scared I was. I tasted what "ordinary life" was like in the weeks of June, and I desperately wanted the ease that comes from that normalcy. I was so confident walking out in May that the Lord had healed me, and how He was ready to lead me onto the next strength, the next victory (because for those who hope in Jesus, He takes us from strength to strength says Psalm 84:7). But starting that Sunday and in the days to follow, I was less than convinced... to put it mildly. My mind began to wonder: "Well, what if this is the cross I am to carry? To live this life with cancer destined to suffer?" It was as if I was already signing myself up to be a martyr forgoing every hope in the Lord's goodness. Eh. Man, am I grateful apprehension doesn't thwart my God from acting on my behalf.
But my Blaine team has just started reading Andy Stanley's book called Visioneering, and it was in the pages of chapter 4 that God met my heart where it was at and brought me back to the vision He has for my life. You see, I still have a burden in my heart to write truth, to share more about His goodness to anyone who will listen, and to stay faithful in a faithless generation. But I got stuck with the how... How will God lead me out of this funk of a disease, how will He diffuse this anxiety I may feel before each check-up throughout the next 10 years, how will He give me opportunities to make my life eternally significant... A lot of questions to ask and feel the weight of within a 5-day span. Thankfully, my God asks me not to worry about tomorrow and goes to whatever measure necessary for me to realize that. This time, He used Andy's words to bring me back to where I need to be: at peace under His Lordship.
"How is never a problem for God. What He originates, He orchestrates. Did Moses have to come up with a way to get the Israelites out of Egypt? Was it David's responsibility to figure out how to get Saul out of the way so he could ascend the throne of Israel? Visionary believers are marked by their intense faithfulness to their vision and to their Savior. For them, the question of how is not an obstacle. It is simply an opportunity for God to do what He does so well - the impossible."
Something shifted inside and John 15:5 came to the forefront of my mind once again: "I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing." I remembered my simple call to trust and believe... and He will take care of the path.
My appointment to get the results from this PET scan is scheduled for this Thursday, July 5. But this is how loving my God is and how thoughtful my oncologist is... As my family and I were driving down the winding road to Yosemite National Park, my phone started buzzing and I looked down to see the Minnesota Oncology Center calling. As my dad pulled over to the side of the road so I wouldn't lose service, I answered with a surge of pensiveness yet excitement. After a few cordial remarks, my precious oncologist said, "I saw that our appointment wasn't until the 5th, and wanted you to come in with a positive outlook. Your tests came back normal!" Normal... exactly the language and the results I had been yearning for. I gleefully sat back into the passenger seat and couldn't help but squeal, "You're the best doctor EVER!" It is plain to me, sir, that my God indeed still hears His people's prayers, and answers in not only the sweetest of ways, but in such perfect timing...and this is when my muscles once again began to relax.
So Thursday will come and I still have an appointment marked down in their calendar, but I will arrive just as I left: with my eyes grinning up at the blue sky, my heart free as a bird, and my trust in the healing power of my God intact. I'm ready to hear the next steps...
Yours Truly,
Heid
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Oh, the peek into my journal.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
Year 24 has been a bit rough so far... haha, to say the least. I can't count the number of times my friends have sat across from me in my living room and echoed one another with a, "Heidi. What the heck... your life is a soap opera. How does all this happen? And often at the same time!" This past week in particular, as I retell the stories, I can't help but laugh out loud (I mean, it's either that or sob uncontrollably. Ha, sir, I'll choose the former). BUT the glass is always half-full, my friend, and Year 24 still has 10 months left in its scope. 10 glorious months chalked full of hope... because a lot can certainly happen in 10 months.
I'm a journaler, Mr. Hodgkin's. Always have been, always will be. David repeatedly exhorts in the Psalms to remember the deeds of the Lord, and I do that with the stack of journals that chronicle each season He has led me through. You've gotten a taste of the content because I have largely used these letters as my journal this spring, but instead of writing to you, I normally compose my letters to my God. You see, my notebooks are simply my prayers recorded in pen on paper. I'd like to share more...
In the beginning of January, my hand scripted these lines: "Here I want to dream with You and watch You open up ideas and possibilities I had never thought of. Here I want to learn from You and be led by You. Here I want to trust You more. Now facing Day 1 of 2012, will You work in powerful ways where it is very plainly seen as Your handiwork? This year, I want to resolve to trust You at all costs. At all times. In every measure. Countering every fear and doubt." Now, reading over these words, knowing they were written right before you entered my life, I breathe in awe and exhale out delight. He has assuredly moved mightily and indeed deepened my earnestness to trust Him on a completely new level.
Can I share more? In the words of Sara Groves (a song in which I cannot sit still when listening to because my soul is just so stirred; as well as the song that exhausted my repeat setting), I scribbled down: "I believe in a peace that flows deeper than pain; the broken find healing in Love. Pain is no measure of His faithfulness; He withholds no good thing from us." The lines in my journal testify to the truth in these lyrics as I continued to write on, in the depths of my pain, how vicious your ways were to tear down my spirit... but how fierce and loyal my Lord's love had countered them all. As I clung to Him with a weakness I have never before experienced, my God proved Himself very strong on my behalf, and as I look up to the sky through tear-filled eyes, I couldn't be more proud of the God I serve and the Man I love with my entire soul. Through Jesus and the cross, He in no way withholds any good thing from me.
And then now, as I flip forward to the pages that are recently smeared by the fresh ink of my red G2 pen, I want to share my jotted prayer as I'm currently trying to figure out how to transition out of this season. Please read on...
Mr. Hodgkin's, this is my small beginning to a life of serious Kingdom impact... that I am set on. But just like in 1 Kings 18, when Elijah bent down with his head in between his knees waiting for the promised rain, so I will get on my knees until I see the fruition of the purpose my God has for my life. The thing is Elijah sent his servant to look for rain 6 times... and 6 times there was nothing. But Elijah remained faithful as He waited. He knew the character of our God. What He plans to pass will definitely be accomplished. And with that resolve, and a 7th look, there was sign of a small cloud. With that small morsel of evidence, Elijah knew the rain was coming... and not long after, the 3-year drought ended with pouring rain. You see, Mr. Hodgkin's, my God has already proven His faithfulness by healing my sick body. Why would He stop now? By His grace, I will remain faithful, with my heart bowed low, and wait for my small cloud to form knowing that soon after, I can expect a pour-down. Hallelujah, sir.
Year 24 has been a bit rough so far... haha, to say the least. I can't count the number of times my friends have sat across from me in my living room and echoed one another with a, "Heidi. What the heck... your life is a soap opera. How does all this happen? And often at the same time!" This past week in particular, as I retell the stories, I can't help but laugh out loud (I mean, it's either that or sob uncontrollably. Ha, sir, I'll choose the former). BUT the glass is always half-full, my friend, and Year 24 still has 10 months left in its scope. 10 glorious months chalked full of hope... because a lot can certainly happen in 10 months.
I'm a journaler, Mr. Hodgkin's. Always have been, always will be. David repeatedly exhorts in the Psalms to remember the deeds of the Lord, and I do that with the stack of journals that chronicle each season He has led me through. You've gotten a taste of the content because I have largely used these letters as my journal this spring, but instead of writing to you, I normally compose my letters to my God. You see, my notebooks are simply my prayers recorded in pen on paper. I'd like to share more...
In the beginning of January, my hand scripted these lines: "Here I want to dream with You and watch You open up ideas and possibilities I had never thought of. Here I want to learn from You and be led by You. Here I want to trust You more. Now facing Day 1 of 2012, will You work in powerful ways where it is very plainly seen as Your handiwork? This year, I want to resolve to trust You at all costs. At all times. In every measure. Countering every fear and doubt." Now, reading over these words, knowing they were written right before you entered my life, I breathe in awe and exhale out delight. He has assuredly moved mightily and indeed deepened my earnestness to trust Him on a completely new level.
Can I share more? In the words of Sara Groves (a song in which I cannot sit still when listening to because my soul is just so stirred; as well as the song that exhausted my repeat setting), I scribbled down: "I believe in a peace that flows deeper than pain; the broken find healing in Love. Pain is no measure of His faithfulness; He withholds no good thing from us." The lines in my journal testify to the truth in these lyrics as I continued to write on, in the depths of my pain, how vicious your ways were to tear down my spirit... but how fierce and loyal my Lord's love had countered them all. As I clung to Him with a weakness I have never before experienced, my God proved Himself very strong on my behalf, and as I look up to the sky through tear-filled eyes, I couldn't be more proud of the God I serve and the Man I love with my entire soul. Through Jesus and the cross, He in no way withholds any good thing from me.
And then now, as I flip forward to the pages that are recently smeared by the fresh ink of my red G2 pen, I want to share my jotted prayer as I'm currently trying to figure out how to transition out of this season. Please read on...
Dear Father,
I pray that You use me only and always for Your purposes. That You bless me with Your wisdom that I can share with the masses. That Your Word would ever be on my lips and a "Praise Jesus" never far from my thoughts. Tough stuff is ahead... indeed that is guaranteed as I navigate through this weary land. But prepare my hands for the battle, Lord, as You promise those that seek You shall never be ashamed. Give me the faith to trust what You say and believe in Your power above all else... that it can undoubtedly move mountains. There is so much freedom and life that comes from You, Jesus, and I don't ever want to look past that or sleep through that. Help me to wait expectantly, trust wholeheartedly, seek relentlessly, and love unconditionally. I give myself fully to Your work and I'm rocking back and forth in my chair excited at the thought of what You have in store for me. You are good, and You are strong. Praise You, Lord. Let my life be a story of Your glory and undefied presence. Let's do big things, God. Let's see the sun stand still in 2012. With my toes curled and my teeth clenched in excitement, I am indeed ready, Father. I want to be a Joshua.
In Jesus' powerful Name I pray, Amen.
There's freedom from my past and there's hope in my future. Claiming that today, sucka.
Yours Truly,
Heid
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Oh, my first few thoughts in remission.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
We were given every last second to employ our final military tactics, but on May 22nd, my radiologist called for a ceasefire. That evening, I walked out of the oncology center with my mask in one hand and release papers in the other. I pranced all the way to my car with what felt like a new-found freedom! As I climbed in and turned the key to start my car, NeedToBreathe's "Wanted Man" blared out from my speakers. And it was there in the parking lot I sat, with the door wide open, the sun beating down on me, for minutes on end listening to this song on repeat.
Let's rewind. You see, when I first heard word of you in January, I would stare up at the empty sky and plead the lines from this song to the Lord: "I am on the run...I know who I am, my dear, I'm a wanted man, but the world I see looks good from here right from where I stand. Together we could disappear....I'm a wanted man." Ha, I'm not calling the Lord "my dear" and I'm certainly not a man, but let me explain further. Back in January, all I wanted was to escape out of your clutches, but you made me feel so trapped; I felt like a walking target with a bold X painted on my back. Even though I knew it was naiive, when I would sing this song over and over, it was as if I was begging the Lord for a chance to run away and start fresh. As if fleeing would dissolve your presence. But logic and reality crept in as soon as I reached up to touch my neck... and could physically feel you. You were in me. Attached to me. Protruding from me. With an extreme threat to spread further. And you weren't going anywhere anytime soon. So with a huge sigh and slumped shoulders, I gave up on my impulse to drop everything and move to Figi (Truman Show, anyone?), and with the notion of test after test, radiation after chemotherapy, and all the pain and trials I was prepped to expect, I gulped and asked Jesus to fight for His scared daughter.
Okay, fast-forward again to this week. There aren't many times in my life I'm at a loss for words, but this week has been showered with those type of moments. Even now, as I sit back and take a deep breath, I'm drumming my fingers along the keyboard and replaying the junctures of each day that will forever be engrained in my mind. You see, Mr. Hodgkin's, in my top 5 favorite blessings the Lord has given me, the people He has sent into my life always come out on top. I don't just have great family, friends, roommates, and co-workers... I have RIDICULOUSLY solid family, friends, roommates, and co-workers who extend Jesus to me on a daily basis. I have seen a sweetness surface from even the unexpected and yet this sensitivity has always been coupled with a fierceness to wage war against you and determination to pray audaciously on my behalf. What loyalty, what love.
And here's the thing, Mr. Hodgkin's. This is not something I uniquely have; rather, this is what the Body of Christ is and this is simply what we do for one another. Romans 12:5 explains: "So in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others." Even more so, Jesus once said, "...all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another" (John 13:35). What a holy and pure calling we have.... to love one another. My heart beats faster even at the thought. There are people in this world who have sworn off church or have ignored the value of living life with fellow believers, and it's one of the few things my empathy strength just cannot understand. Back in January, I wrote in my journal: "Thank You Father for all the support You surrounded me with. You must have known how much I would need them... all of them." The Lord worked so powerfully through the body of Christ these past few months that I can't help but grimace and shake my head as I wonder what it would have been like without them.
My parents were my go-to people available at all hours of the day; sitting with me through hours of chemotherapy, rubbing my back as I was cringing in pain, and being resolute in the faith that the Lord would indeed heal me. The presence of my siblings brought such comfort, but they also knew how to make me laugh and that averted attention was so refreshing. The letters, emails, and texts from my extended family would always redirect me to the Lord's sovereign hand and peace would then naturally flow. Even my 8-year-old cousin played her role in my healing when I heard that she saw a picture of me and said, "I don't think it's fair that Heidi got cancer" and then immediately bowed her head and said, "Let's pray." How could our God not be moved by her heart?!
Then there are my friends. The nights when I wanted to share all of my thoughts, they left their beds, and with open ears, they listened. The days when I just wanted to be normal, they would take me to consignment shops and we would journal together at Caribou. These people would surprise me with flowers, notes under my door, and spontaneous moments of Affirmation Station. They stood by me in deep comraderie as I shaved my head, made shopping for wigs seem like a normal task on the to-do list, and naturally threw a "Goodbye, Mr. Hodgkin's" party to celebrate the Lord's victorious reign. All in all, these people include my closest girlfriends, my roommates, my volunteers from EBC, my peeps from Northwestern College... You would indeed be blown away if I could share the sacrificial and intentional deeds that flowed from each individual. God bless them all.
My co-workers. Man, these people consistently extended support and encouragement 5 days a week (and more). They had the faith I could fight you, the confidence I could continue to work hard, and the mindset to love me through it - which all came purely from our Lord. I remember when the doctor gave me the call to confirm you were indeed residing in my neck; I was at work. I remember numbly walking back towards my desk, but before I could even get that far, I fell to my knees in the cube of the White Bear Lake team; Sue and Emily held my hands as we rushed boldly into the presence of our Lord for comfort, intense protection, and full healing. When I opened my eyes, 10-15 others were surrounding me also petitioning the Lord for my healing. Also, my campus pastor, his wonderful wife, and his precious children would pray for "Miss Heidi" each night and even checked out a book from the library about cancer so their kids could learn more about it.
I could go on and on, like I could with all my peeps, but it's safe to say the Lord indeed showed His comfort and support through His children, His saints, His people. Man, do I love the church with so much of my heart. All in all, this world has seemed very scary and can still instigate a bit of fear with the ambiguity of the future ahead, but I am not traveling alone, Mr. Hodgkin's. No, as a Christ-follower, I am blessed with something beautiful and sure-standing: the body of Christ. Because of them, I can heed to Hebrews 12:1, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."
So that's my plan... I have 5 weeks until I go back to the oncologist for my first PET scan since being officially in remission and will (hopefully) hear confirmation I am still in the clear. If this is the case, I will be able to go into surgery and get my dang port removed; I know I will feel deeper freedom when that's out of my body pushing you further into the deep recesses of my memory. Also, I'm taking the next couple of weeks to dive into my journal and process this entire journey with my God. I will surely keep you in the loop, but once I get the confirmation in the beginning of July that you are gone, I am done with you, sir. You heard me... no more communication then with you; you will be dead to me in the healing Name of Jesus. It will be time to start a new chapter, and with that, a new blog? Haha, the question mark is there because I'm still thinking of what that looks like, but believe it will be central to my Year 24 verse: "taste and see that the Lord is good" (Psalm 34:8). I just think it's about time for bigger and better things, Mr. Hodgkin's; wouldn't you say?
Yours Truly,
Heid
We were given every last second to employ our final military tactics, but on May 22nd, my radiologist called for a ceasefire. That evening, I walked out of the oncology center with my mask in one hand and release papers in the other. I pranced all the way to my car with what felt like a new-found freedom! As I climbed in and turned the key to start my car, NeedToBreathe's "Wanted Man" blared out from my speakers. And it was there in the parking lot I sat, with the door wide open, the sun beating down on me, for minutes on end listening to this song on repeat.
Let's rewind. You see, when I first heard word of you in January, I would stare up at the empty sky and plead the lines from this song to the Lord: "I am on the run...I know who I am, my dear, I'm a wanted man, but the world I see looks good from here right from where I stand. Together we could disappear....I'm a wanted man." Ha, I'm not calling the Lord "my dear" and I'm certainly not a man, but let me explain further. Back in January, all I wanted was to escape out of your clutches, but you made me feel so trapped; I felt like a walking target with a bold X painted on my back. Even though I knew it was naiive, when I would sing this song over and over, it was as if I was begging the Lord for a chance to run away and start fresh. As if fleeing would dissolve your presence. But logic and reality crept in as soon as I reached up to touch my neck... and could physically feel you. You were in me. Attached to me. Protruding from me. With an extreme threat to spread further. And you weren't going anywhere anytime soon. So with a huge sigh and slumped shoulders, I gave up on my impulse to drop everything and move to Figi (Truman Show, anyone?), and with the notion of test after test, radiation after chemotherapy, and all the pain and trials I was prepped to expect, I gulped and asked Jesus to fight for His scared daughter.
Okay, fast-forward again to this week. There aren't many times in my life I'm at a loss for words, but this week has been showered with those type of moments. Even now, as I sit back and take a deep breath, I'm drumming my fingers along the keyboard and replaying the junctures of each day that will forever be engrained in my mind. You see, Mr. Hodgkin's, in my top 5 favorite blessings the Lord has given me, the people He has sent into my life always come out on top. I don't just have great family, friends, roommates, and co-workers... I have RIDICULOUSLY solid family, friends, roommates, and co-workers who extend Jesus to me on a daily basis. I have seen a sweetness surface from even the unexpected and yet this sensitivity has always been coupled with a fierceness to wage war against you and determination to pray audaciously on my behalf. What loyalty, what love.
And here's the thing, Mr. Hodgkin's. This is not something I uniquely have; rather, this is what the Body of Christ is and this is simply what we do for one another. Romans 12:5 explains: "So in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others." Even more so, Jesus once said, "...all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another" (John 13:35). What a holy and pure calling we have.... to love one another. My heart beats faster even at the thought. There are people in this world who have sworn off church or have ignored the value of living life with fellow believers, and it's one of the few things my empathy strength just cannot understand. Back in January, I wrote in my journal: "Thank You Father for all the support You surrounded me with. You must have known how much I would need them... all of them." The Lord worked so powerfully through the body of Christ these past few months that I can't help but grimace and shake my head as I wonder what it would have been like without them.
My parents were my go-to people available at all hours of the day; sitting with me through hours of chemotherapy, rubbing my back as I was cringing in pain, and being resolute in the faith that the Lord would indeed heal me. The presence of my siblings brought such comfort, but they also knew how to make me laugh and that averted attention was so refreshing. The letters, emails, and texts from my extended family would always redirect me to the Lord's sovereign hand and peace would then naturally flow. Even my 8-year-old cousin played her role in my healing when I heard that she saw a picture of me and said, "I don't think it's fair that Heidi got cancer" and then immediately bowed her head and said, "Let's pray." How could our God not be moved by her heart?!
Then there are my friends. The nights when I wanted to share all of my thoughts, they left their beds, and with open ears, they listened. The days when I just wanted to be normal, they would take me to consignment shops and we would journal together at Caribou. These people would surprise me with flowers, notes under my door, and spontaneous moments of Affirmation Station. They stood by me in deep comraderie as I shaved my head, made shopping for wigs seem like a normal task on the to-do list, and naturally threw a "Goodbye, Mr. Hodgkin's" party to celebrate the Lord's victorious reign. All in all, these people include my closest girlfriends, my roommates, my volunteers from EBC, my peeps from Northwestern College... You would indeed be blown away if I could share the sacrificial and intentional deeds that flowed from each individual. God bless them all.
My co-workers. Man, these people consistently extended support and encouragement 5 days a week (and more). They had the faith I could fight you, the confidence I could continue to work hard, and the mindset to love me through it - which all came purely from our Lord. I remember when the doctor gave me the call to confirm you were indeed residing in my neck; I was at work. I remember numbly walking back towards my desk, but before I could even get that far, I fell to my knees in the cube of the White Bear Lake team; Sue and Emily held my hands as we rushed boldly into the presence of our Lord for comfort, intense protection, and full healing. When I opened my eyes, 10-15 others were surrounding me also petitioning the Lord for my healing. Also, my campus pastor, his wonderful wife, and his precious children would pray for "Miss Heidi" each night and even checked out a book from the library about cancer so their kids could learn more about it.
I could go on and on, like I could with all my peeps, but it's safe to say the Lord indeed showed His comfort and support through His children, His saints, His people. Man, do I love the church with so much of my heart. All in all, this world has seemed very scary and can still instigate a bit of fear with the ambiguity of the future ahead, but I am not traveling alone, Mr. Hodgkin's. No, as a Christ-follower, I am blessed with something beautiful and sure-standing: the body of Christ. Because of them, I can heed to Hebrews 12:1, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."
So that's my plan... I have 5 weeks until I go back to the oncologist for my first PET scan since being officially in remission and will (hopefully) hear confirmation I am still in the clear. If this is the case, I will be able to go into surgery and get my dang port removed; I know I will feel deeper freedom when that's out of my body pushing you further into the deep recesses of my memory. Also, I'm taking the next couple of weeks to dive into my journal and process this entire journey with my God. I will surely keep you in the loop, but once I get the confirmation in the beginning of July that you are gone, I am done with you, sir. You heard me... no more communication then with you; you will be dead to me in the healing Name of Jesus. It will be time to start a new chapter, and with that, a new blog? Haha, the question mark is there because I'm still thinking of what that looks like, but believe it will be central to my Year 24 verse: "taste and see that the Lord is good" (Psalm 34:8). I just think it's about time for bigger and better things, Mr. Hodgkin's; wouldn't you say?
Yours Truly,
Heid
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Oh, the cross I'm to carry.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
It seems unreal that I am officially down to one week left of treatment. Appears like a cause to celebrate, wouldn't you say? I'm having a hard time kicking up my heels though... which is extremely unlike me. I often promote celebration in anything and everything -- from mustering up the courage to kill a centipede in the bathroom to graduating college after years of late nights studying. Regardless of the degree of accomplishment, I rejoice... and squeal again 5 minutes later. But here is why it is especially challenging now to make merry:
I recently sat across from my oncologist, and after we looked over a few scans, I said, "So we're going to get rid of this thing?!" He looked at me with pensive eyes and replied, "Well, no... we will never say you're cured or healed. There's always a chance it could come back, so instead we call it 'remission.'" What?... No closure?... So the combination of chemotherapy AND radiation doesn't guarantee a thing? Holy crap, modern medicine, I instigate a call to arms to become a bit more modern.
"What's going to happen is, on your last appointment, you are going to just walk out the door. No tests, no meeting with me... and then we'll see you in 5 weeks to take a PET scan once the treatment has thoroughly set in. If it's clear, it'll be another 3 months until I see you for yet another PET scan, meeting and so forth. We'll meet like this for the first year; then every 6 months up until 5 years; and then once a year until year 10 hits." All I could then think of was the anxiety my friends harbored as they waited for their parent's results to come back. Now, I will be that individual. I'll be the one sitting through an hour and a half test praying the whole time that I'm clear. I'll be the one waiting to hear back from my doctor within 4-7 business days (which, this may be for another time, but let's learn ways to become a bit more efficient in delivering results to patients, medical field. Please remember, these are people's lives and you could make the difference of one less painful night as they lie awake in wonder... analyzing all the directions their lives could possibly take.) And I'll be the one learning how to trust Jesus deeper and deeper all along the way as I literally depend on Him for life. Praise God He never fails.
A nurse weighed in after the appointment and said, "This is where your faith comes in." I in no way compare myself to Mother Teresa, but times like this, her words reign true in every part of me: "I know God won't give me anything I can't handle. I just wish He didn't trust me so much." But on the flip side... how honoring for it has never been more clear that my Lord has a plan for my life. Why else would He spare me from the blow of your attacks? Or from the toxicity of further treatment? Or from the despair of an incurable disease?
Yes, sir, it is certainly clear my God is up to something. He promises all over His Word that He will fulfill His purpose for me, and since I'm still able to inhale oxygen and produce carbon dioxide, that promise indeed applies. What is His purpose for me, you ask? As I read through my God's Word, my heart is called to be a modern-day Joshua who prays audaciously and watches the sun stand still in faith of God's power to do the impossible. My spirit is hand-crafted to dance free before the Lord in pure adoration just like my kindred spirit, David. And I already see the Lord harnassing my gifts at a young age for His church like He did with Timothy. Finally, and ultimately, as I picture my Lord Jesus carrying a cross on His back as He willfully walked towards His death, there's no doubt in my mind I'm called to emulate as high of a degree as I can of this unwavering trust... regardless of the cross I'm to carry. Gulp. Life sure is interesting, Mr. Hodgkin's.
Yours Truly,
Heid
It seems unreal that I am officially down to one week left of treatment. Appears like a cause to celebrate, wouldn't you say? I'm having a hard time kicking up my heels though... which is extremely unlike me. I often promote celebration in anything and everything -- from mustering up the courage to kill a centipede in the bathroom to graduating college after years of late nights studying. Regardless of the degree of accomplishment, I rejoice... and squeal again 5 minutes later. But here is why it is especially challenging now to make merry:
I recently sat across from my oncologist, and after we looked over a few scans, I said, "So we're going to get rid of this thing?!" He looked at me with pensive eyes and replied, "Well, no... we will never say you're cured or healed. There's always a chance it could come back, so instead we call it 'remission.'" What?... No closure?... So the combination of chemotherapy AND radiation doesn't guarantee a thing? Holy crap, modern medicine, I instigate a call to arms to become a bit more modern.
"What's going to happen is, on your last appointment, you are going to just walk out the door. No tests, no meeting with me... and then we'll see you in 5 weeks to take a PET scan once the treatment has thoroughly set in. If it's clear, it'll be another 3 months until I see you for yet another PET scan, meeting and so forth. We'll meet like this for the first year; then every 6 months up until 5 years; and then once a year until year 10 hits." All I could then think of was the anxiety my friends harbored as they waited for their parent's results to come back. Now, I will be that individual. I'll be the one sitting through an hour and a half test praying the whole time that I'm clear. I'll be the one waiting to hear back from my doctor within 4-7 business days (which, this may be for another time, but let's learn ways to become a bit more efficient in delivering results to patients, medical field. Please remember, these are people's lives and you could make the difference of one less painful night as they lie awake in wonder... analyzing all the directions their lives could possibly take.) And I'll be the one learning how to trust Jesus deeper and deeper all along the way as I literally depend on Him for life. Praise God He never fails.
A nurse weighed in after the appointment and said, "This is where your faith comes in." I in no way compare myself to Mother Teresa, but times like this, her words reign true in every part of me: "I know God won't give me anything I can't handle. I just wish He didn't trust me so much." But on the flip side... how honoring for it has never been more clear that my Lord has a plan for my life. Why else would He spare me from the blow of your attacks? Or from the toxicity of further treatment? Or from the despair of an incurable disease?
Yes, sir, it is certainly clear my God is up to something. He promises all over His Word that He will fulfill His purpose for me, and since I'm still able to inhale oxygen and produce carbon dioxide, that promise indeed applies. What is His purpose for me, you ask? As I read through my God's Word, my heart is called to be a modern-day Joshua who prays audaciously and watches the sun stand still in faith of God's power to do the impossible. My spirit is hand-crafted to dance free before the Lord in pure adoration just like my kindred spirit, David. And I already see the Lord harnassing my gifts at a young age for His church like He did with Timothy. Finally, and ultimately, as I picture my Lord Jesus carrying a cross on His back as He willfully walked towards His death, there's no doubt in my mind I'm called to emulate as high of a degree as I can of this unwavering trust... regardless of the cross I'm to carry. Gulp. Life sure is interesting, Mr. Hodgkin's.
Yours Truly,
Heid
Monday, May 7, 2012
Oh, the moods that mark my days.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
There are days when you become too much. On those days, I curl up in the tiniest ball my 5'9" body will allow, pull my volleyball-patterned fleece blanket over my head, and close my eyes tightly as I ask Jesus if, respectfully, just maybe, He has given me too much. These times, as my body begins to shake from the hardest sobs I have ever cried, my mind recites Psalm 57:1 over and over again: "Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me, for in You I take refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed." So there, under the protection of my Lord and my blankets, I hide. With unsteady breaths, I wait. And with unrelenting fear, I can't help but wonder.
And then there are days when a righteous anger ignites in me as I am reminded of Ephesians 6:12, "For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places." I'm a born and raised conservative, baptist girl, but when these days hit, I'm transformed into this charasmatic, super-warrior who tears down any evil force that dares to approach her vicinity. Who would have thought? Ha, certainly not me. I have to be careful though because on days like this, I feel invincible... and I may or may not carry this valiance behind the wheel.
On the other hand, there are the days where I'm lost in thought. The days when I catch myself staring out the window and chewing over God's plans and His ways. This is when my temperament is mild and my introverted self appeals for a quiet corner in a coffeeshop or a long walk through the neighboring streets where my mind can just race.
Then, my favorite, there are days when this unexplainable joy bubbles in my very being and I can't help but giggle outloud, grin up at the sky, and prance around Target's parking lot before I grab my groceries. These are the days when my heart befriends the Lord's sovereignty and I realize you have nothing on Him or His healing power. These days I dance in the middle of the street in the middle of the night as Bethany Dillon's "All I Need" runs through my headphones (every girl knows what I mean... that song is timeless). What was that? Yes, sir, I have always been "spirited" as you call it. My parents have shared how I was that 3-year-old who was happiest spinning in the corner singing to herself. And I was that girl who was sent to our elementary school's Compass Room (a room where "troubled" kids can receive redirection...please catch the play on words there) because I was laughing too loud. And I was that young lady who was nicknamed the "sparkplug" on my volleyball team because of the contagious energy I'd bring as soon as I walked onto the court. So, yes. You could say this kind of a day marks my natural bent.
Lastly, there are days where I'm oblivious to you in my life. Inconceivable, huh? These days, I continue to live life as any other 24-year-old girl does: working, reading out in the sun in hopes to be any color other than pasty white, grabbing ice cream with friends, and making every attempt to downsize my closet but miserably failing. Crazy to think that in two short weeks, this will be an everyday reality. Woohooooo! Oops, I don't hear you cheering, sir...
All in all, no matter what disposition my mind is facing, my God meets me there and sees me through. Yes, He allowed you to crash into my life, but in the words of Joseph, "You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good" (Genesis 50:20). At the end of the day, His glorious plan will be carried out, and I'm determined to keep the faith along the way... an audacious faith at that.
When I was in college, I realized I was playing it safe when it came to my prayers. A couple unfortunate events happened that were deeply disappointing to me, and I noticed, as a result, I began to pray in this manner: "Um, Lord, this is what I would like... but if it's not in Your will, please help me be okay with that. Eh, deal with me gently please. Amen." Do you see how I was trying to curb each prayer so I wouldn't be discouraged? Do you also see how paralyzing and unfruitful that was, sir? So let me introduce my year marked by 5 Bold Prayers. Enough was enough. I threw open my journal and scribbled down 5 things I really, really, really wanted that seemed impossible... and then simply asked God to take over. Easy enough? Oops, nope. Not exactly... there was this crucial part that James kindly reminded me in chapter 1, verse 6: "But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind." Well, the latter certainly did not sound appealing... so believing it was. And let me tell you, Mr. Hodgkin's, the ways the Lord moved in that year was nothing short of miraculous. He answered a few and changed my heart with the others, and now I can't help but wiggle with excitement when October rolls around. Why? This now marks the time for yet another round of 5 bold prayers to go up.
Things haven't changed. You catch me off guard, yes... but I remember the deeds of my Lord. I remember His saving faithfulness. I remember His incontestable power. And I will still pray fearlessly and live yet another year to see His hand move on my behalf. Boom. You just so little, Mr. Hodgkin's.
Yours Truly,
Heid
There are days when you become too much. On those days, I curl up in the tiniest ball my 5'9" body will allow, pull my volleyball-patterned fleece blanket over my head, and close my eyes tightly as I ask Jesus if, respectfully, just maybe, He has given me too much. These times, as my body begins to shake from the hardest sobs I have ever cried, my mind recites Psalm 57:1 over and over again: "Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me, for in You I take refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed." So there, under the protection of my Lord and my blankets, I hide. With unsteady breaths, I wait. And with unrelenting fear, I can't help but wonder.
And then there are days when a righteous anger ignites in me as I am reminded of Ephesians 6:12, "For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places." I'm a born and raised conservative, baptist girl, but when these days hit, I'm transformed into this charasmatic, super-warrior who tears down any evil force that dares to approach her vicinity. Who would have thought? Ha, certainly not me. I have to be careful though because on days like this, I feel invincible... and I may or may not carry this valiance behind the wheel.
On the other hand, there are the days where I'm lost in thought. The days when I catch myself staring out the window and chewing over God's plans and His ways. This is when my temperament is mild and my introverted self appeals for a quiet corner in a coffeeshop or a long walk through the neighboring streets where my mind can just race.
Then, my favorite, there are days when this unexplainable joy bubbles in my very being and I can't help but giggle outloud, grin up at the sky, and prance around Target's parking lot before I grab my groceries. These are the days when my heart befriends the Lord's sovereignty and I realize you have nothing on Him or His healing power. These days I dance in the middle of the street in the middle of the night as Bethany Dillon's "All I Need" runs through my headphones (every girl knows what I mean... that song is timeless). What was that? Yes, sir, I have always been "spirited" as you call it. My parents have shared how I was that 3-year-old who was happiest spinning in the corner singing to herself. And I was that girl who was sent to our elementary school's Compass Room (a room where "troubled" kids can receive redirection...please catch the play on words there) because I was laughing too loud. And I was that young lady who was nicknamed the "sparkplug" on my volleyball team because of the contagious energy I'd bring as soon as I walked onto the court. So, yes. You could say this kind of a day marks my natural bent.
Lastly, there are days where I'm oblivious to you in my life. Inconceivable, huh? These days, I continue to live life as any other 24-year-old girl does: working, reading out in the sun in hopes to be any color other than pasty white, grabbing ice cream with friends, and making every attempt to downsize my closet but miserably failing. Crazy to think that in two short weeks, this will be an everyday reality. Woohooooo! Oops, I don't hear you cheering, sir...
All in all, no matter what disposition my mind is facing, my God meets me there and sees me through. Yes, He allowed you to crash into my life, but in the words of Joseph, "You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good" (Genesis 50:20). At the end of the day, His glorious plan will be carried out, and I'm determined to keep the faith along the way... an audacious faith at that.
When I was in college, I realized I was playing it safe when it came to my prayers. A couple unfortunate events happened that were deeply disappointing to me, and I noticed, as a result, I began to pray in this manner: "Um, Lord, this is what I would like... but if it's not in Your will, please help me be okay with that. Eh, deal with me gently please. Amen." Do you see how I was trying to curb each prayer so I wouldn't be discouraged? Do you also see how paralyzing and unfruitful that was, sir? So let me introduce my year marked by 5 Bold Prayers. Enough was enough. I threw open my journal and scribbled down 5 things I really, really, really wanted that seemed impossible... and then simply asked God to take over. Easy enough? Oops, nope. Not exactly... there was this crucial part that James kindly reminded me in chapter 1, verse 6: "But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind." Well, the latter certainly did not sound appealing... so believing it was. And let me tell you, Mr. Hodgkin's, the ways the Lord moved in that year was nothing short of miraculous. He answered a few and changed my heart with the others, and now I can't help but wiggle with excitement when October rolls around. Why? This now marks the time for yet another round of 5 bold prayers to go up.
Things haven't changed. You catch me off guard, yes... but I remember the deeds of my Lord. I remember His saving faithfulness. I remember His incontestable power. And I will still pray fearlessly and live yet another year to see His hand move on my behalf. Boom. You just so little, Mr. Hodgkin's.
Yours Truly,
Heid
Monday, April 30, 2012
Oh, that dang mask.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
How have you been holding up? I'm being serious! It's been a week since radiation started his bouts and I honestly have no idea how you're responding. After all I've been going through though, I can only hope you are nearing your demise. You are very much the annoying thorn in my side, and I'm doing everything in my being not to be thwarted by your bullying. I find it very obnoxious that even though you are purely physical, your influence goes well beyond that as you toy with my heart and mind. Sir, you are a villian; worse than Mystique, Deathstrike, and Callisto (I used to be an avid X-Men fan in high school). You'd like to hear how I'm doing? I don't buy into your concern, but I will share with you nonetheless.
My radiologist called me last Friday to scratch my radiation run-through all together and reschedule my first time for Wednesday, April 25. If you know me, I don't like to prolong the inevitable... especially if it's negative; I always want to just get started, get it over with, and move on. So even putting off my first encounter with radiation for even a couple of days caused me to groan, roll back my eyes, and question the goodness in this world (somedays you just gotta be dramatic, sir). Thankfully, my best friend from the dorms, Laura Stoll, was with me when I got the call and simply responded with a shrug and a, "I guess Jesus just thinks Wednesday is better." Love it; her responses are point blank, true, and cause me to breathe evenly again. Yes, she is certainly right... when my schedule changes, Jesus must be doing something as He "works all things according to the counsel of His will" (Ephesians1:11). Peace He certainly gives, Mr. Hodgkin's.
Wednesday finally came (okay, so maybe I still wasn't as patient as I hoped to be), and as the second-hand on the clock turned to 30 past 6, I strolled into the oncology center with sweaty palms and a crinkled forehead. I tried to mask my apprehension as I signed in even though I was painfully aware of how red my face was (dang redhead problems. Forced transparency, I tell you). After a few minutes, a nurse who I have come to know as Alex came to get me. Pause. I don't know if she knows it, but Alex has this insane gift of making you feel like you've been friends with her since elementary school. When I walked into a room marked off by radioactive warning labels and told her I was scared, Alex reassured me how quickly it would go and how we could stop at anytime if it became too much. When it was time for me to take off my wig and I rubbed the stubble of my strawberry-blonde hair spiking up in all directions, she walked by and said, "I think it's beautiful." When I climbed onto the treatment table and the latches on my mask clicked into place, she touched my shoulder and asked if I was doing okay. When they left the room and the lights dimmed, her voice echoed from the speaker above and she walked me through the process the entire time. In conclusion, I just really like her. Okay, resume.
Since it was my first time, I had no idea what to expect. Well, sir, here is what goes down: Once I'm lined up, the system permits radiation to start his dance to which I am subjected to. The table jiggles a few times before the process begins (don't ask me why) and then x-rays and radiation machines kick into gear as they circle around me and my mold. It makes a bit of noise, so my nurses try to drown it out by turning on the radio. Let me tell you though, it's quite the feat to lay still when 94.5 plays S.O.S. by Rihanna (once a dancer, always a dancer). But first, like I said, your body has to line up correctly... and that takes up the bulk of the time.
So there I was, with a plastic mold pressing down on my face and chest, and machines whirling around my body. With my eyes peering out of the baby holes of my mask, I watched it all happen like an innocent bystander. There are times like this where things seem really out of my control and fear of the unknown can be immobilizing (get it? I couldn't move. Clever, right?). Even though I had the resolve to stay strong, tears still formed and they still fell... except this time I couldn't wipe them away. My hands were stationed by these handles given to me at my sides (which, proven by my white knuckles I later had to stretch out, I surely did clench), but even more so, my mask kept me from touching my skin altogether. So without any other option, my tears flowed freely; all the while I prayed they would dry up before the nurses came back.
With directions coming from Alex throughout the visit, I had to adjust the angle of my cranked neck, press my nose up even harder against the mold, and try to relax my shoulders. Relax? Yeah, that's likely. However, even though that mask was tight against my body, I somehow wasn't lining up as I originally had, and the system refused to begin radiating. The nurses thus changed my position time after time for about an hour, but then they sighed and said, "We will try this one more time..." Like I said before, I hate any delay in something I so badly want to be done, so I prayed, "Lord, PLEASE let this one work." I probably should have prayed this with the first attempt, because then I heard Alex say, "Perfect, Heidi! You lined up exactly, so we will start very soon." Within minutes, the machines again did their masquerade around my body, and before I knew it, Alex came back into the room and said, "You're done!" They seriously weren't joking when they said the actual radiation part only takes moments.
So this is what I'll encounter each day, Monday through Friday, until (fingers-crossed) May 22nd. A little more than 3 weeks away... you have no idea how sweet the end looks. Until then, I am still set on living as normal of a life as I can. I will still drink tons of coffee and explore new consignment shops. I will still teach my EBC Kid-Os more about living for Jesus and love on my volunteers with all of my heart. I will still be the queen of sleepovers and stay up late watching Gilmore Girls. I will still practice my golf swing (my newly-discovered summer love) and my dad and brother will be equally surprised and proud once I give them a run for their money by the end of the summer. And I will still dream of what the future could possibly hold for me and continue to pray daily for that future husband of mine (who is taking FOREVER to get here). You see, you haven't changed me, Mr. Hodgkin's. Maybe you have temporarily changed my sleeping habits and deepened my understanding of sickness in this world... but you can't touch my spirit and you can't snatch me from my God's hand. My God didn't send me into this world to merely survive it, but to live in victory and joy by the power of His Spirit. Hear me now; I've got my eyes set on Him for the rest of my days, and you, although evil, are being used for His glory. You don't think so? Well, let's just wait and see then, my friend.
Yours Truly,
Heid
How have you been holding up? I'm being serious! It's been a week since radiation started his bouts and I honestly have no idea how you're responding. After all I've been going through though, I can only hope you are nearing your demise. You are very much the annoying thorn in my side, and I'm doing everything in my being not to be thwarted by your bullying. I find it very obnoxious that even though you are purely physical, your influence goes well beyond that as you toy with my heart and mind. Sir, you are a villian; worse than Mystique, Deathstrike, and Callisto (I used to be an avid X-Men fan in high school). You'd like to hear how I'm doing? I don't buy into your concern, but I will share with you nonetheless.
My radiologist called me last Friday to scratch my radiation run-through all together and reschedule my first time for Wednesday, April 25. If you know me, I don't like to prolong the inevitable... especially if it's negative; I always want to just get started, get it over with, and move on. So even putting off my first encounter with radiation for even a couple of days caused me to groan, roll back my eyes, and question the goodness in this world (somedays you just gotta be dramatic, sir). Thankfully, my best friend from the dorms, Laura Stoll, was with me when I got the call and simply responded with a shrug and a, "I guess Jesus just thinks Wednesday is better." Love it; her responses are point blank, true, and cause me to breathe evenly again. Yes, she is certainly right... when my schedule changes, Jesus must be doing something as He "works all things according to the counsel of His will" (Ephesians1:11). Peace He certainly gives, Mr. Hodgkin's.
Wednesday finally came (okay, so maybe I still wasn't as patient as I hoped to be), and as the second-hand on the clock turned to 30 past 6, I strolled into the oncology center with sweaty palms and a crinkled forehead. I tried to mask my apprehension as I signed in even though I was painfully aware of how red my face was (dang redhead problems. Forced transparency, I tell you). After a few minutes, a nurse who I have come to know as Alex came to get me. Pause. I don't know if she knows it, but Alex has this insane gift of making you feel like you've been friends with her since elementary school. When I walked into a room marked off by radioactive warning labels and told her I was scared, Alex reassured me how quickly it would go and how we could stop at anytime if it became too much. When it was time for me to take off my wig and I rubbed the stubble of my strawberry-blonde hair spiking up in all directions, she walked by and said, "I think it's beautiful." When I climbed onto the treatment table and the latches on my mask clicked into place, she touched my shoulder and asked if I was doing okay. When they left the room and the lights dimmed, her voice echoed from the speaker above and she walked me through the process the entire time. In conclusion, I just really like her. Okay, resume.
Since it was my first time, I had no idea what to expect. Well, sir, here is what goes down: Once I'm lined up, the system permits radiation to start his dance to which I am subjected to. The table jiggles a few times before the process begins (don't ask me why) and then x-rays and radiation machines kick into gear as they circle around me and my mold. It makes a bit of noise, so my nurses try to drown it out by turning on the radio. Let me tell you though, it's quite the feat to lay still when 94.5 plays S.O.S. by Rihanna (once a dancer, always a dancer). But first, like I said, your body has to line up correctly... and that takes up the bulk of the time.
So there I was, with a plastic mold pressing down on my face and chest, and machines whirling around my body. With my eyes peering out of the baby holes of my mask, I watched it all happen like an innocent bystander. There are times like this where things seem really out of my control and fear of the unknown can be immobilizing (get it? I couldn't move. Clever, right?). Even though I had the resolve to stay strong, tears still formed and they still fell... except this time I couldn't wipe them away. My hands were stationed by these handles given to me at my sides (which, proven by my white knuckles I later had to stretch out, I surely did clench), but even more so, my mask kept me from touching my skin altogether. So without any other option, my tears flowed freely; all the while I prayed they would dry up before the nurses came back.
With directions coming from Alex throughout the visit, I had to adjust the angle of my cranked neck, press my nose up even harder against the mold, and try to relax my shoulders. Relax? Yeah, that's likely. However, even though that mask was tight against my body, I somehow wasn't lining up as I originally had, and the system refused to begin radiating. The nurses thus changed my position time after time for about an hour, but then they sighed and said, "We will try this one more time..." Like I said before, I hate any delay in something I so badly want to be done, so I prayed, "Lord, PLEASE let this one work." I probably should have prayed this with the first attempt, because then I heard Alex say, "Perfect, Heidi! You lined up exactly, so we will start very soon." Within minutes, the machines again did their masquerade around my body, and before I knew it, Alex came back into the room and said, "You're done!" They seriously weren't joking when they said the actual radiation part only takes moments.
So this is what I'll encounter each day, Monday through Friday, until (fingers-crossed) May 22nd. A little more than 3 weeks away... you have no idea how sweet the end looks. Until then, I am still set on living as normal of a life as I can. I will still drink tons of coffee and explore new consignment shops. I will still teach my EBC Kid-Os more about living for Jesus and love on my volunteers with all of my heart. I will still be the queen of sleepovers and stay up late watching Gilmore Girls. I will still practice my golf swing (my newly-discovered summer love) and my dad and brother will be equally surprised and proud once I give them a run for their money by the end of the summer. And I will still dream of what the future could possibly hold for me and continue to pray daily for that future husband of mine (who is taking FOREVER to get here). You see, you haven't changed me, Mr. Hodgkin's. Maybe you have temporarily changed my sleeping habits and deepened my understanding of sickness in this world... but you can't touch my spirit and you can't snatch me from my God's hand. My God didn't send me into this world to merely survive it, but to live in victory and joy by the power of His Spirit. Hear me now; I've got my eyes set on Him for the rest of my days, and you, although evil, are being used for His glory. You don't think so? Well, let's just wait and see then, my friend.
Yours Truly,
Heid
Friday, April 20, 2012
Oh, my coming weapon.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
May I introduce my next line of defense, my coming weapon? He's quite the aggressive combatant, but is no where near the maniac chemo dared to be. The aim of his attacks are precise and the damage of his wake will affect my body far less than chemo did. On top of this, his track record in killing the cancer cells (that you create in particular) is pretty impressive. Yep, his name is radiation, and after my first introduction to him, you could say he tickles my fancy (hahaha, is anyone else amused by that phrase? Dying over here). Yes, sir, I'll share more...
Thursday morning, I bounced into the oncology center (I've come to terms with the fact that I'm by far the youngest one in the building. To make my day and have some fun with this fact, I like to startle the senior citizens by either running or prancing through the door. Their eyes are wide enough when they see how young I am, but you should really see their sauce-pan eyes when I leap right past them... that's what they get for staring). Because I was late (the curse of a Woo), the nurse was ready and waiting for me. As she led me down the hallway and into a small patient room, she bubbled over as she said, "My name's Kim and I'll be one of your nurses! How are you doing?!" Instead of responding with just as much enthusiasm, I quietly said, "I'm fine, thanks." Surprised? Well, you see, I knew today would be the day I'd learn of radiation's methods, side-effects, and risks, which the weight and expectation of that all caused me to err on the somber side. I could tell Kim read my apprehension by her resolve to empathetically reach out and touch my arm every other sentence throughout the visit. Even though it was a bit much, I was relieved she did so. In fact, I couldn't have asked for a better person to assist me throughout the appointment.
Kim not only read up on my file (which surprisingly, many do not), but she had already read through the pamphlets concerning radiation to the head, neck, and chest and crossed off any side-effects or risks that were not applicable to me. I've met with a LOT of nurses and doctors in my day (well, these past few months), and you have no idea how radical of an approach this is - to individually and intentionally care for my unique case (because every case is in fact unique from another). As she went on and dove into each detail written across the pages, I praise the Maker she didn't stop after each one to gauge my response. I hid my eyes behind my eyelids as I stared down at these words, not wanting her to see my eyes well up as I read that my lung could potentially be scarred or how tightly my throat could close up after each treatment. Thankfully, Kim just kept going, not stopping for a breath until we reached the last risk, in which I had enough time to piece myself together. What I learned: basically everything under the sun could happen to me in my life. Woohooo for the future!
After these pieces of life-giving news were shared, I hear: "Another nurse will swing by to get you, so your mask can be made." Wait, what? Apparently, before the actual act of radiation can occur, I need a plastic mask sculpted of my entire upper body... which will then be strapped down to the table so that I am consistently in the same alignment each visit. Okay, didn't see that one coming. And just as Kim said, a nurse stopped by and led me to the next phase of this visit. As she opened the door to the next operating table I would have to buck up and embrace, she looked at me with a questionable face and asked, "Are you in any way claustrophobic? If so, this may be extremely difficult."
I looked back at her examining face and puffed up my chest a little as I said, "No, not at all."
Not as convinced, she went on to explain, "The plastic we use will first be melted so that we can mold it to your body. It will be really hot, but we'll cool it down by rubbing ice packs over the surface as it hardens." Okay, this is weird... How hot are we talking? I mean, is this going to burn my face?!
"It has to be perfect and I hope we can get it the first time. The process will take about 15 minutes total." Sick, that's a long time to be stuck under that thing.
"Please go slip into a gown." Bah! You would...
"Probably a small/medium will do." Wow, thank you for that.
I swallowed my exasperation and did as I was told. So there I was, lying on yet another examination table, being "a good sport" through one more test, and again trying to not pee my pants (literally - after they injected fluids into my bloodstream for my CT scan, the nurse said, "This will make you feel like you are going to wet your pants... but don't worry, you aren't acutally doing that." On one hand, how am I still surprised? On the other.... you have GOT to be kidding me, lady.) Mr. Hodgkin's, you are the cause of some seriously bizarre tests. At least, I now have a lot of material for the 10 fingers game.... you know, the game where you say "I've done this..." and if others haven't also, they need to put a finger down. Objective: you want to be the last one with fingers still up. I dislike organized fun (aka games), but when I know domination is inevitable, I will surely participate. Now I know what game to instigate at youth group next week...
Anyways, I am now a girl who has a mask sculpted of her upper body on display at the oncology center; a girl who officially knows she isn't claustrophic; a girl who needs to take StrengthsFinder again because she must have the strength of Adaptability after all this crap; and a girl who gulps at the realization that a radiation run-through happens on Monday and then it officially starts Tuesday. Here's my hope in this all: "You who have made me see many troubles and calamities will revive me again; from the depths of the earth You will bring me up again. You will increase my greatness and comfort me again" (Psalm 71:20-21). You think I'm beating a dead horse? Well, my God's promises never change, and I'm set on proclaiming them... so get used to it, buddy. Okay radiation, let's do this.
Yours Truly,
Heid
May I introduce my next line of defense, my coming weapon? He's quite the aggressive combatant, but is no where near the maniac chemo dared to be. The aim of his attacks are precise and the damage of his wake will affect my body far less than chemo did. On top of this, his track record in killing the cancer cells (that you create in particular) is pretty impressive. Yep, his name is radiation, and after my first introduction to him, you could say he tickles my fancy (hahaha, is anyone else amused by that phrase? Dying over here). Yes, sir, I'll share more...
Thursday morning, I bounced into the oncology center (I've come to terms with the fact that I'm by far the youngest one in the building. To make my day and have some fun with this fact, I like to startle the senior citizens by either running or prancing through the door. Their eyes are wide enough when they see how young I am, but you should really see their sauce-pan eyes when I leap right past them... that's what they get for staring). Because I was late (the curse of a Woo), the nurse was ready and waiting for me. As she led me down the hallway and into a small patient room, she bubbled over as she said, "My name's Kim and I'll be one of your nurses! How are you doing?!" Instead of responding with just as much enthusiasm, I quietly said, "I'm fine, thanks." Surprised? Well, you see, I knew today would be the day I'd learn of radiation's methods, side-effects, and risks, which the weight and expectation of that all caused me to err on the somber side. I could tell Kim read my apprehension by her resolve to empathetically reach out and touch my arm every other sentence throughout the visit. Even though it was a bit much, I was relieved she did so. In fact, I couldn't have asked for a better person to assist me throughout the appointment.
Kim not only read up on my file (which surprisingly, many do not), but she had already read through the pamphlets concerning radiation to the head, neck, and chest and crossed off any side-effects or risks that were not applicable to me. I've met with a LOT of nurses and doctors in my day (well, these past few months), and you have no idea how radical of an approach this is - to individually and intentionally care for my unique case (because every case is in fact unique from another). As she went on and dove into each detail written across the pages, I praise the Maker she didn't stop after each one to gauge my response. I hid my eyes behind my eyelids as I stared down at these words, not wanting her to see my eyes well up as I read that my lung could potentially be scarred or how tightly my throat could close up after each treatment. Thankfully, Kim just kept going, not stopping for a breath until we reached the last risk, in which I had enough time to piece myself together. What I learned: basically everything under the sun could happen to me in my life. Woohooo for the future!
After these pieces of life-giving news were shared, I hear: "Another nurse will swing by to get you, so your mask can be made." Wait, what? Apparently, before the actual act of radiation can occur, I need a plastic mask sculpted of my entire upper body... which will then be strapped down to the table so that I am consistently in the same alignment each visit. Okay, didn't see that one coming. And just as Kim said, a nurse stopped by and led me to the next phase of this visit. As she opened the door to the next operating table I would have to buck up and embrace, she looked at me with a questionable face and asked, "Are you in any way claustrophobic? If so, this may be extremely difficult."
I looked back at her examining face and puffed up my chest a little as I said, "No, not at all."
Not as convinced, she went on to explain, "The plastic we use will first be melted so that we can mold it to your body. It will be really hot, but we'll cool it down by rubbing ice packs over the surface as it hardens." Okay, this is weird... How hot are we talking? I mean, is this going to burn my face?!
"It has to be perfect and I hope we can get it the first time. The process will take about 15 minutes total." Sick, that's a long time to be stuck under that thing.
"Please go slip into a gown." Bah! You would...
"Probably a small/medium will do." Wow, thank you for that.
I swallowed my exasperation and did as I was told. So there I was, lying on yet another examination table, being "a good sport" through one more test, and again trying to not pee my pants (literally - after they injected fluids into my bloodstream for my CT scan, the nurse said, "This will make you feel like you are going to wet your pants... but don't worry, you aren't acutally doing that." On one hand, how am I still surprised? On the other.... you have GOT to be kidding me, lady.) Mr. Hodgkin's, you are the cause of some seriously bizarre tests. At least, I now have a lot of material for the 10 fingers game.... you know, the game where you say "I've done this..." and if others haven't also, they need to put a finger down. Objective: you want to be the last one with fingers still up. I dislike organized fun (aka games), but when I know domination is inevitable, I will surely participate. Now I know what game to instigate at youth group next week...
Anyways, I am now a girl who has a mask sculpted of her upper body on display at the oncology center; a girl who officially knows she isn't claustrophic; a girl who needs to take StrengthsFinder again because she must have the strength of Adaptability after all this crap; and a girl who gulps at the realization that a radiation run-through happens on Monday and then it officially starts Tuesday. Here's my hope in this all: "You who have made me see many troubles and calamities will revive me again; from the depths of the earth You will bring me up again. You will increase my greatness and comfort me again" (Psalm 71:20-21). You think I'm beating a dead horse? Well, my God's promises never change, and I'm set on proclaiming them... so get used to it, buddy. Okay radiation, let's do this.
Yours Truly,
Heid
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Oh, what a day of rest that was.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
My last round with the belligerent chemo was last Friday, and she sure went down swinging. I'm now just finding my feet and regaining balance after the punches she managed to throw. After Easter services on Sunday, I gave into my body's pleads to rest and made my way to the couch. Other than joining my family at the dinner table that evening, I barely ventured away from my cushion as I wrapped myself in blankets (and whipped them off every half hour because of my incessant temperature changes) and plopped in Season 1 of Castle (thank you Easter bunny.... cough, thank you parents). Within the next few hours, one thing became very clear: I don't handle sickness well. I don't handle it well at all. I literally moan, exhaling loud to get attention, and dramatically drop exaggerated comments like, "I swear these are my last breaths. It's been great knowing you all." Give me time and I find it is very easy for me to sink into my very own pity-party. Not very flattering, you can assume.
Yes, I'm sure my doctors and my nurse friends are proud of me for taking a couple days for some much needed R&R... but besides the detective instincts I sharpened through my television show of choice, this time proved to be counterproductive. Here's what I mean: like I shared last time with you, Mr. Hodgkin's, I'm a feeler, but also very much a thinker. My mind races with thoughts all day long (some congruous, some random), and it's quite the feat to flick the off switch. So you can only imagine what it would be like for me sitting there for hours left to my own disposition just to think. A ridiculous, yet entertaining train of thought weaved in and out I can assure you, but in all seriousness, my mind did drift to what my friends were doing that day... one was tasting cakes with their fiance in preparation for their big day, another was vacationing up at the North Shore with her mom, then yet another was sitting at night class in pursuit of her masters degree. And I thought.... man, what I would give to be them. How I so desire to once again live a care-free life like that. A nasty feeling of envy began to build and my thoughts gave way to his sick invitation as my mind continued to travel down his purely disastrous path. What I would give to instead be worried about the guest list to my wedding instead of the likelihood of you coming back in 5 years. What I would give to stress about homework due the next day instead of stress about the damage you may bring to my body. It went on. And ended with, What a life I have. Ew, even as I read that, I'm grossed out. Envy is a foul companion and he networks with the like: disappointment, jealousy, hopelessness, resentfulness. Hmm, no thanks. That's not a people group I want to woo (my #3 strength). I'm glad my God very quickly revealed him for what he is. I must disassociate.
Sometimes, sir, I forget who I am. I forget what's been done for me. I had the honor of sharing my story at Northwestern College's chapel yesterday, and as I did and with further reflection afterwards, light was shed on these thoughts I was wrestling with. That's the beauty of being made new in Christ: life is always at work in me and I have the promise of inwardly being renewed day by day... regardless of the troubles I face (check it - 2 Corinthians 4:12,16). And here is where I lost sight and where my gracious Shepherd guided me back:
Jesus gave up His life so that I could live mine. He didn't suffer a brutal death for me to complain and question the life He's given me. Heck no. He didn't bear the cross for my soul so that I could give into envy and jealousy. No, Jesus came so that I could have life, and have life abundantly (John 10:10). Sir, I don't know exactly what that looks like for me today (except for the online shopping spree I may have indulged in...dang Gap, gets me every time), but if my good God allowed you to pass through His hand into my life, I'll forgo looking to my left and coveting my neighbor. I'll keep my eyes on Him, trusting His plan... because I have a life to life. A life worthy to be fully lived because it's marked by the blood of Jesus. A life deserving to be fully lived because my God is leading it. A long time ago, I had echoed the words of Ginny Owens and told my God: "Take me on the pathway that leads me home to You, and I will walk through the valley if You want me to." Gulp. Never would've dreamt how deep of a valley or how rough my pathway may be. It is already very clear it will not be easy... but it's promised to be holy, transforming, and yes, my friend, it's promised to be good. Stop rolling your eyes as if those are just fancy notions or naive hopes. Remember, I'm His creation; I'm His child; I'm His beloved. I've been chosen, redeemed, and empowered... and through the Holy Spirit, my life will certainly reflect that.
Don't be fooled, Mr. Hodgkin's... He reigns.
Yours Truly,
Heid
My last round with the belligerent chemo was last Friday, and she sure went down swinging. I'm now just finding my feet and regaining balance after the punches she managed to throw. After Easter services on Sunday, I gave into my body's pleads to rest and made my way to the couch. Other than joining my family at the dinner table that evening, I barely ventured away from my cushion as I wrapped myself in blankets (and whipped them off every half hour because of my incessant temperature changes) and plopped in Season 1 of Castle (thank you Easter bunny.... cough, thank you parents). Within the next few hours, one thing became very clear: I don't handle sickness well. I don't handle it well at all. I literally moan, exhaling loud to get attention, and dramatically drop exaggerated comments like, "I swear these are my last breaths. It's been great knowing you all." Give me time and I find it is very easy for me to sink into my very own pity-party. Not very flattering, you can assume.
Yes, I'm sure my doctors and my nurse friends are proud of me for taking a couple days for some much needed R&R... but besides the detective instincts I sharpened through my television show of choice, this time proved to be counterproductive. Here's what I mean: like I shared last time with you, Mr. Hodgkin's, I'm a feeler, but also very much a thinker. My mind races with thoughts all day long (some congruous, some random), and it's quite the feat to flick the off switch. So you can only imagine what it would be like for me sitting there for hours left to my own disposition just to think. A ridiculous, yet entertaining train of thought weaved in and out I can assure you, but in all seriousness, my mind did drift to what my friends were doing that day... one was tasting cakes with their fiance in preparation for their big day, another was vacationing up at the North Shore with her mom, then yet another was sitting at night class in pursuit of her masters degree. And I thought.... man, what I would give to be them. How I so desire to once again live a care-free life like that. A nasty feeling of envy began to build and my thoughts gave way to his sick invitation as my mind continued to travel down his purely disastrous path. What I would give to instead be worried about the guest list to my wedding instead of the likelihood of you coming back in 5 years. What I would give to stress about homework due the next day instead of stress about the damage you may bring to my body. It went on. And ended with, What a life I have. Ew, even as I read that, I'm grossed out. Envy is a foul companion and he networks with the like: disappointment, jealousy, hopelessness, resentfulness. Hmm, no thanks. That's not a people group I want to woo (my #3 strength). I'm glad my God very quickly revealed him for what he is. I must disassociate.
Sometimes, sir, I forget who I am. I forget what's been done for me. I had the honor of sharing my story at Northwestern College's chapel yesterday, and as I did and with further reflection afterwards, light was shed on these thoughts I was wrestling with. That's the beauty of being made new in Christ: life is always at work in me and I have the promise of inwardly being renewed day by day... regardless of the troubles I face (check it - 2 Corinthians 4:12,16). And here is where I lost sight and where my gracious Shepherd guided me back:
Jesus gave up His life so that I could live mine. He didn't suffer a brutal death for me to complain and question the life He's given me. Heck no. He didn't bear the cross for my soul so that I could give into envy and jealousy. No, Jesus came so that I could have life, and have life abundantly (John 10:10). Sir, I don't know exactly what that looks like for me today (except for the online shopping spree I may have indulged in...dang Gap, gets me every time), but if my good God allowed you to pass through His hand into my life, I'll forgo looking to my left and coveting my neighbor. I'll keep my eyes on Him, trusting His plan... because I have a life to life. A life worthy to be fully lived because it's marked by the blood of Jesus. A life deserving to be fully lived because my God is leading it. A long time ago, I had echoed the words of Ginny Owens and told my God: "Take me on the pathway that leads me home to You, and I will walk through the valley if You want me to." Gulp. Never would've dreamt how deep of a valley or how rough my pathway may be. It is already very clear it will not be easy... but it's promised to be holy, transforming, and yes, my friend, it's promised to be good. Stop rolling your eyes as if those are just fancy notions or naive hopes. Remember, I'm His creation; I'm His child; I'm His beloved. I've been chosen, redeemed, and empowered... and through the Holy Spirit, my life will certainly reflect that.
Don't be fooled, Mr. Hodgkin's... He reigns.
Yours Truly,
Heid
Monday, April 2, 2012
Oh, just keep on keeping on.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
Do you ever have days where you just can't seem to shake a gloomy thought or a cynical cerebation? No matter how unruly or ridiculous it is, you just can't break through the fog. Hmm, that seemed to be my week. Regardless of the positive change in my treatment plan, the precious time spent celebrating my parent's 28th anniversary (woot, woot), and the heartfelt conversations with friends that lasted well past midnight... I could not break free from the murkiness that overrode my attitude. Humph. I increasingly became frustrated; why was I able to stay so strong and positive when circumstances were rough, but when chemo is coming to a close and my situation more than hints of healing (even sooner than expected), I am unable to take heart? What the heck. I couldn't help but chide myself; Heidi Lee, get a grip. Even as I write these words, the voices of Bethel Music and Jeremy Riddle echo in my mind as they sing: "God, pull on the strings of my heart for I long to respond to You."
You see, sir, I'm a feeler; I delight in experiencing joy when I can't even suppress a squeal or the call of compassion when my heart breaks for a hurting friend. Life is marked by a depth, a richness when a heart is given free reign to feel.... and I surely give it free reign to feel. StrengthsFinder (it always goes back to this assessment) tells me that my Empathy strength "is instinctively aware of people's feelings and can feel the depths of another's pain or jubilation." Here's a perfect example: when I read the second book in the Twilight series, New Moon, Bella was abandoned by Edward, and by refusing to make her a vampire, he denied his love for her. Here's the thing: I don't like vampires. I don't even get into sci-fi. When I originally heard the plot of these books, I wrote it off as a series I would never read... But despite all my attempts to avoid these books, curiousity got the best of me and I couldn't help but wonder what all the huff was about. Picking up the first book, I was hooked within mere pages. Fast-forward: I could resonate so intensely that until I read the part where the couple reunited, I felt disheartened and moped around the house, almost like I myself had just gone through the break-up. Ha, ridiculous, I know, but I can't seem to help myself.
In real life though, I used to see this level of feeling as a weakness. Used to coax myself to toughen up. I even used to pray for the Lord to harden my heart, so I wasn't affected by such strong emotions. However, I've learned and am continually learning how gracious my Lord is in keeping my heart soft in this hardened world. How deeply feminine it is to have a gentle spirit. And what a call and privilege it is to feel what breaks His heart and to feel the joy of the life He breathes. With that being said though, when there are days of indifference and melancholy like the ones I've had in these past couple of weeks, you can imagine how much of a bummer this is to me.
Wednesday came and I was still spinning my wheels in this funk I found myself in. But just like every week, I headed to Revolution (our senior high program at Eagle Brook) for yet another night of connecting with small group leaders and out of control students. I have to tell you, Mr. Hodgkin's, I thoroughly enjoy the set our worship team plays almost every week, and this time was no different. The song I mentioned to you last week Give Me Faith by Elevation Worship played yet again; unlike last week though, I had begun singing the song with my mouth but could not seem to stir up any emotion. The bridge hit and my voice sang, "I may be weak, but your Spirit's strong in me. My flesh my fail, but my God, You never will." And it was in the second repeat that my heart finally began to give way. It was there standing in the rows amongst students that I declared these truths even though my spirit had a hard time feeling it. But after each repeat, the iciness of my negative thoughts that had been building began to melt. And it was then I realized a truth that struck a chord so deep.... sir, even when I don't feel it, I will declare it. Yes, I thoroughly enjoy feeling, but those waver and wane just as much as they hold and persist. In those moments, I need to choose truth; for His Word never changes and His promises are real. They are more real than my perception of reality. Sara Groves reverberates this truism in her song Open My Hands: "I believe in a Fountain that will never dry though I've thirsted and didn't have enough. Thirst is no measure of His faithfulness; He withholds no good thing from us." When I thirst, I choose to declare He satisfies in His wise and precise timing... because that's what His Word says and that's reality.
So today, that's my attempt; I am embracing my predicament. I realize this week will mark my last treatment of white blood cell injections and chemo... and I am so ready to be rid of both. So ready to stop sweating and then shaking by my body's ever-fluctuating temperature. So ready to brush my own hair. So ready to taste morning breath instead of this metallic flavor when I wake up. So ready to be normal and treated like a regular person than this vulnerable being I'm sometimes portrayed as. Man, I don't know how people do this for months, sometimes years, longer than I have to. I give thanks to my germ-infested Kid-Os who built up my immune system to what it is because I can't imagine my body having more difficulty than it already has. Mad props to all my chemo peeps all over the world (for some reason, so much of me just wanted to shout out, "Peace to the world" just like the Spice Girls. Didn't you have that same compulsion?). So what's the next battle before us? Radiation. Others have cringed when I've said that word, but I'm actually excited. My body won't be wholly affected like chemo does, my hair will be allowed to grow back, and it's the last stage in this plan to defeat you, sir. I just need to get past this last treatment first..... eh. I hate chemo. There will be no good-bye party for her, that's for sure. Friday cannot come soon enough.
Yours Truly,
Heidi
Do you ever have days where you just can't seem to shake a gloomy thought or a cynical cerebation? No matter how unruly or ridiculous it is, you just can't break through the fog. Hmm, that seemed to be my week. Regardless of the positive change in my treatment plan, the precious time spent celebrating my parent's 28th anniversary (woot, woot), and the heartfelt conversations with friends that lasted well past midnight... I could not break free from the murkiness that overrode my attitude. Humph. I increasingly became frustrated; why was I able to stay so strong and positive when circumstances were rough, but when chemo is coming to a close and my situation more than hints of healing (even sooner than expected), I am unable to take heart? What the heck. I couldn't help but chide myself; Heidi Lee, get a grip. Even as I write these words, the voices of Bethel Music and Jeremy Riddle echo in my mind as they sing: "God, pull on the strings of my heart for I long to respond to You."
You see, sir, I'm a feeler; I delight in experiencing joy when I can't even suppress a squeal or the call of compassion when my heart breaks for a hurting friend. Life is marked by a depth, a richness when a heart is given free reign to feel.... and I surely give it free reign to feel. StrengthsFinder (it always goes back to this assessment) tells me that my Empathy strength "is instinctively aware of people's feelings and can feel the depths of another's pain or jubilation." Here's a perfect example: when I read the second book in the Twilight series, New Moon, Bella was abandoned by Edward, and by refusing to make her a vampire, he denied his love for her. Here's the thing: I don't like vampires. I don't even get into sci-fi. When I originally heard the plot of these books, I wrote it off as a series I would never read... But despite all my attempts to avoid these books, curiousity got the best of me and I couldn't help but wonder what all the huff was about. Picking up the first book, I was hooked within mere pages. Fast-forward: I could resonate so intensely that until I read the part where the couple reunited, I felt disheartened and moped around the house, almost like I myself had just gone through the break-up. Ha, ridiculous, I know, but I can't seem to help myself.
In real life though, I used to see this level of feeling as a weakness. Used to coax myself to toughen up. I even used to pray for the Lord to harden my heart, so I wasn't affected by such strong emotions. However, I've learned and am continually learning how gracious my Lord is in keeping my heart soft in this hardened world. How deeply feminine it is to have a gentle spirit. And what a call and privilege it is to feel what breaks His heart and to feel the joy of the life He breathes. With that being said though, when there are days of indifference and melancholy like the ones I've had in these past couple of weeks, you can imagine how much of a bummer this is to me.
Wednesday came and I was still spinning my wheels in this funk I found myself in. But just like every week, I headed to Revolution (our senior high program at Eagle Brook) for yet another night of connecting with small group leaders and out of control students. I have to tell you, Mr. Hodgkin's, I thoroughly enjoy the set our worship team plays almost every week, and this time was no different. The song I mentioned to you last week Give Me Faith by Elevation Worship played yet again; unlike last week though, I had begun singing the song with my mouth but could not seem to stir up any emotion. The bridge hit and my voice sang, "I may be weak, but your Spirit's strong in me. My flesh my fail, but my God, You never will." And it was in the second repeat that my heart finally began to give way. It was there standing in the rows amongst students that I declared these truths even though my spirit had a hard time feeling it. But after each repeat, the iciness of my negative thoughts that had been building began to melt. And it was then I realized a truth that struck a chord so deep.... sir, even when I don't feel it, I will declare it. Yes, I thoroughly enjoy feeling, but those waver and wane just as much as they hold and persist. In those moments, I need to choose truth; for His Word never changes and His promises are real. They are more real than my perception of reality. Sara Groves reverberates this truism in her song Open My Hands: "I believe in a Fountain that will never dry though I've thirsted and didn't have enough. Thirst is no measure of His faithfulness; He withholds no good thing from us." When I thirst, I choose to declare He satisfies in His wise and precise timing... because that's what His Word says and that's reality.
So today, that's my attempt; I am embracing my predicament. I realize this week will mark my last treatment of white blood cell injections and chemo... and I am so ready to be rid of both. So ready to stop sweating and then shaking by my body's ever-fluctuating temperature. So ready to brush my own hair. So ready to taste morning breath instead of this metallic flavor when I wake up. So ready to be normal and treated like a regular person than this vulnerable being I'm sometimes portrayed as. Man, I don't know how people do this for months, sometimes years, longer than I have to. I give thanks to my germ-infested Kid-Os who built up my immune system to what it is because I can't imagine my body having more difficulty than it already has. Mad props to all my chemo peeps all over the world (for some reason, so much of me just wanted to shout out, "Peace to the world" just like the Spice Girls. Didn't you have that same compulsion?). So what's the next battle before us? Radiation. Others have cringed when I've said that word, but I'm actually excited. My body won't be wholly affected like chemo does, my hair will be allowed to grow back, and it's the last stage in this plan to defeat you, sir. I just need to get past this last treatment first..... eh. I hate chemo. There will be no good-bye party for her, that's for sure. Friday cannot come soon enough.
Yours Truly,
Heidi
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Oh, tasting and seeing.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
This past week, I attempted to write you a letter but could not find the words with which to address you. The original intent was to undergo another round of chemo last Monday, but this time, my neutrophil count was too low; thus, healing was prolonged further yet again. I'm sure everyone is leaps and bounds ahead of me in regards to the medical field, but in case you are unaware as well, neutrophils help fight infection within your body. Because it dropped to 200, on top of the delay, I was again signed up for three neupogen shots that same week. These are the same shots that gave me bone pain, caused twitching throughout my upper body, and gave me intense hot flashes. Yep, happened again. My empathy has now expanded to those dealing with menopause; I got a taste.... yuck, for sure.
As you may or may not know, March 15 has come and gone... and I am now officially 24-years old. In lieu of celebrating, my friends piled around a table at Heidi's in Minneapolis, and it was there that I couldn't help but instigate a round of Affirmation Station. What's that you ask? Well, if you know anything about me, the 3 things I love in life are: questions, love languages, and toddlers. Affirmation Station has nothing to do with toddlers (however, if that was championed back in Kid-O-Deo, my career would hit its climax), but it does combine questions and my love language into one ingenious game (if you don't mind me saying so myself). It's pretty straight-forward: people in the room speak words of affirmation over each individual. Doesn't it sound exhilarating? Oh man, I get butterflies just thinking of it! Here's where my individualization strength comes into play: each time, I get to set the perimeters in which we affirm (it would surely be boring if it was always the same). For instance, I once gave my Blaine team the guideline to affirm in the context of a theme, whatever theme they fancy....creativity, GO. My competitive, sports-crazed Campus Pastor, Matt Anderson, chose the Twins and then deemed me "Ben Revere", while our candid Connections Pastor, Mark Lenz, chose automobile parts in which I was the spark plug. As you can easily see, this game is not only brilliant, but it generates creativity, team-bonding, and of course, encouragement at its finest. Why wouldn't peeps embrace it?!
So, the evening of my birthday, I looked around as my friends chatted about online dating and marriage (is this what all girls talk about? Yes, sir... yes it is), and I interjected, "I see this as the perfect transition for Affirmation Station." Most of my friends grinned back at me while others rolled their eyes (I know they secretly love it). To really drive it home though, I said, "You guys, it's my birthday... and I have cancer." Ha! I must admit, Mr. Hodgkin's, you have given me quite the card to play when I want something in particular. Some call it manipulative.... but according to StrengthsFinder, this is a little something called "influence." I can't help it that the majority of my strengths land in the influential category. Again, "When in Rome..." Oops, I digress.
Directions were given by the ever-clever Jackie LaPlant and we then engaged in Affirmation Station "reflective-style". Directions: each person took a turn to share a positive memoir from this past year of 23. As they went around the horn, a few memories resurfaced a few thoughts. My birthday of last year, I remember walking into Paint Your Plate off Grand Avenue with some of my closest girlfriends. We grabbed a table, carefully chose what ceramic piece we wanted to paint, and then decided on the colors we were going to work with. I chose a simple tile and so did my good friend, Kate. Using a pencil first, I sketched out a bird (surprise, surprise... the very thing my hand always seems to draw). Kate, however, wanted to create her tile for me and asked what I would like. It was then that I pulled out my Bible and flipped to Psalm 91. I had read that passage earlier in the day, and after praying to my God, I felt a deep peace that a few of those verses would mark the next year of my life. My girls wanted to hear what part of the psalm spoke so deeply to me, and it was then that I shared verses 14-15: "Because he holds fast to Me in love, I will deliver him; I will protect him, because he knows My Name. When he calls to Me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him." With eloquent cursive, Kate scribed those words onto a tile that now resides on my desk today.
So where do you think I went when I first heard word of you, sir? I again opened up the pages in my Bible to Psalm 91. It speaks so deeply of His complete protection, does it not? While waiting for doctors in the lobbies, before any surgery, on my way to the hospital, I pored over Psalm 91... I buried myself in this psalm in the dead of night when doubt crept in and in the middle of the day when the words or stories of others (however well-intentioned) rattled my confidence. Sometimes I read it once and that was enough, but more often than not were the times when I kept re-reading it, outloud, until His peace moved past fear and found its rightful place in the core of my mind and in the depths of my heart. One evening in particular, my Grandpa sent me an email that will forever be engrained in my memory and a copy ever tucked into the pages of my Bible. In this message, my Grandpa passed along a little history concerning this precious psalm of mine. Would you care to hear it, Mr. Hodgkin's? I only need to communicate 2 sentences for you to pick up on the significance: "The 91st Battalion in WW1 used this psalm and recited it before going into any battle. They were in 2 of the bloodiest battles of the war and never lost a casualty." Sir, do you not see the parallel? This is something called symbolism. You see, my God knew a year ago, that out of all the passages in Scripture, I would choose these verses. He already knew the story behind them and the comfort I would take in its victory. Just as He armed the 91st battallion, so He equips me with strength for the battle waged against me. Like the last words written in Psalm 91 read (which I cannot verbally say in this season without tearing up): "With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation" (v.10). Yes, that's surely my God.
So where am I now? Don't say that so wickedly, sir, because there is news to be shared. News that may knock you off your high horse. After being dismissed this past Monday from treatment, feeling so sick from all the neupogen shots, and other various disappointments that happened throughout the week, my perseverance was running a bit flat. Well, that's actually quite the understatement; I was really feeling crushed by the weight of it all asking, "Really? Anything else?" Have you ever heard the Elevation Worship song that sings: "Give me faith to trust what You say; that You're good and Your love is great?" Well, that was the cry of my heart this past week, and in the time of my need, my dear friend, Charissa Pederson, pointed me to Psalm 86. As soon as my eyes read "show me a sign of Your favor" in verse 17, I dropped my Bible in my lap and looked up to the sky pleading with the Lord for that very same thing. Could you please show me a sign of Your favor? A sign of Your goodness? Well, Mr. Hodgkin's, if we here on earth know how to give good gifts to our children, "how much more will [our] Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him?" (Matthew 7:11) So I asked, tried to rest in His perfect timing... and then waited.
This past Friday finally came around and I drove into the oncology center for my third round of chemotherapy. When I walked down the hall, I was greeted by my favorite nurse practitioner (hands-down). How could she not be when she was pumping her fists and excitedly chanting, "Heidi Stoltz is in the house!" I can't help but feed off her energy; who says you can't have fun at the oncologist... definitely not Kris! After she checks my counts, my vitals, and my neck, I am deemed ready for another confrontation with chemo FINALLY (see, I have no patience). However, before we got up to leave, Kris cheered, "After this, you will be more than halfway done!" My forehead crinkled as I tried to make sense of this... "You mean, I will be halfway done after today." She then gave me the best news I could have ever heard: "We will confirm with your oncologist... but his notes clearly say a total of 4 chemotherapy treatments." Of course, I'm trying not to freak out in case it's a mistake, but we bump into my doctor in the hall and he confirms the truth: my body is responding so strongly to treatments that I only need a total of 4. BAM. Man, do I love my oncology peeps.
Yes, my mouth burns yet again and I'm nauseous every time I see the sign Noodles & Company... but there is an end in sight to you, my friend. And it is sooner than anyone but my God ever imagined. Now would be a good time to share with you the mantra I landed on for Year 24. It's the words in Psalm 34:8 - "Taste and see that the Lord is good!"... In just 10 short days of this year, I am already tasting and I am already seeing. Man, doesn't it pose the question: what does the Lord have in store these next 355 days?? Well, it's very clear: goodness, that's what. "I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living" (Psalm 27:13).
Yours Truly,
Heid
This past week, I attempted to write you a letter but could not find the words with which to address you. The original intent was to undergo another round of chemo last Monday, but this time, my neutrophil count was too low; thus, healing was prolonged further yet again. I'm sure everyone is leaps and bounds ahead of me in regards to the medical field, but in case you are unaware as well, neutrophils help fight infection within your body. Because it dropped to 200, on top of the delay, I was again signed up for three neupogen shots that same week. These are the same shots that gave me bone pain, caused twitching throughout my upper body, and gave me intense hot flashes. Yep, happened again. My empathy has now expanded to those dealing with menopause; I got a taste.... yuck, for sure.
As you may or may not know, March 15 has come and gone... and I am now officially 24-years old. In lieu of celebrating, my friends piled around a table at Heidi's in Minneapolis, and it was there that I couldn't help but instigate a round of Affirmation Station. What's that you ask? Well, if you know anything about me, the 3 things I love in life are: questions, love languages, and toddlers. Affirmation Station has nothing to do with toddlers (however, if that was championed back in Kid-O-Deo, my career would hit its climax), but it does combine questions and my love language into one ingenious game (if you don't mind me saying so myself). It's pretty straight-forward: people in the room speak words of affirmation over each individual. Doesn't it sound exhilarating? Oh man, I get butterflies just thinking of it! Here's where my individualization strength comes into play: each time, I get to set the perimeters in which we affirm (it would surely be boring if it was always the same). For instance, I once gave my Blaine team the guideline to affirm in the context of a theme, whatever theme they fancy....creativity, GO. My competitive, sports-crazed Campus Pastor, Matt Anderson, chose the Twins and then deemed me "Ben Revere", while our candid Connections Pastor, Mark Lenz, chose automobile parts in which I was the spark plug. As you can easily see, this game is not only brilliant, but it generates creativity, team-bonding, and of course, encouragement at its finest. Why wouldn't peeps embrace it?!
So, the evening of my birthday, I looked around as my friends chatted about online dating and marriage (is this what all girls talk about? Yes, sir... yes it is), and I interjected, "I see this as the perfect transition for Affirmation Station." Most of my friends grinned back at me while others rolled their eyes (I know they secretly love it). To really drive it home though, I said, "You guys, it's my birthday... and I have cancer." Ha! I must admit, Mr. Hodgkin's, you have given me quite the card to play when I want something in particular. Some call it manipulative.... but according to StrengthsFinder, this is a little something called "influence." I can't help it that the majority of my strengths land in the influential category. Again, "When in Rome..." Oops, I digress.
Directions were given by the ever-clever Jackie LaPlant and we then engaged in Affirmation Station "reflective-style". Directions: each person took a turn to share a positive memoir from this past year of 23. As they went around the horn, a few memories resurfaced a few thoughts. My birthday of last year, I remember walking into Paint Your Plate off Grand Avenue with some of my closest girlfriends. We grabbed a table, carefully chose what ceramic piece we wanted to paint, and then decided on the colors we were going to work with. I chose a simple tile and so did my good friend, Kate. Using a pencil first, I sketched out a bird (surprise, surprise... the very thing my hand always seems to draw). Kate, however, wanted to create her tile for me and asked what I would like. It was then that I pulled out my Bible and flipped to Psalm 91. I had read that passage earlier in the day, and after praying to my God, I felt a deep peace that a few of those verses would mark the next year of my life. My girls wanted to hear what part of the psalm spoke so deeply to me, and it was then that I shared verses 14-15: "Because he holds fast to Me in love, I will deliver him; I will protect him, because he knows My Name. When he calls to Me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him." With eloquent cursive, Kate scribed those words onto a tile that now resides on my desk today.
So where do you think I went when I first heard word of you, sir? I again opened up the pages in my Bible to Psalm 91. It speaks so deeply of His complete protection, does it not? While waiting for doctors in the lobbies, before any surgery, on my way to the hospital, I pored over Psalm 91... I buried myself in this psalm in the dead of night when doubt crept in and in the middle of the day when the words or stories of others (however well-intentioned) rattled my confidence. Sometimes I read it once and that was enough, but more often than not were the times when I kept re-reading it, outloud, until His peace moved past fear and found its rightful place in the core of my mind and in the depths of my heart. One evening in particular, my Grandpa sent me an email that will forever be engrained in my memory and a copy ever tucked into the pages of my Bible. In this message, my Grandpa passed along a little history concerning this precious psalm of mine. Would you care to hear it, Mr. Hodgkin's? I only need to communicate 2 sentences for you to pick up on the significance: "The 91st Battalion in WW1 used this psalm and recited it before going into any battle. They were in 2 of the bloodiest battles of the war and never lost a casualty." Sir, do you not see the parallel? This is something called symbolism. You see, my God knew a year ago, that out of all the passages in Scripture, I would choose these verses. He already knew the story behind them and the comfort I would take in its victory. Just as He armed the 91st battallion, so He equips me with strength for the battle waged against me. Like the last words written in Psalm 91 read (which I cannot verbally say in this season without tearing up): "With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation" (v.10). Yes, that's surely my God.
So where am I now? Don't say that so wickedly, sir, because there is news to be shared. News that may knock you off your high horse. After being dismissed this past Monday from treatment, feeling so sick from all the neupogen shots, and other various disappointments that happened throughout the week, my perseverance was running a bit flat. Well, that's actually quite the understatement; I was really feeling crushed by the weight of it all asking, "Really? Anything else?" Have you ever heard the Elevation Worship song that sings: "Give me faith to trust what You say; that You're good and Your love is great?" Well, that was the cry of my heart this past week, and in the time of my need, my dear friend, Charissa Pederson, pointed me to Psalm 86. As soon as my eyes read "show me a sign of Your favor" in verse 17, I dropped my Bible in my lap and looked up to the sky pleading with the Lord for that very same thing. Could you please show me a sign of Your favor? A sign of Your goodness? Well, Mr. Hodgkin's, if we here on earth know how to give good gifts to our children, "how much more will [our] Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him?" (Matthew 7:11) So I asked, tried to rest in His perfect timing... and then waited.
This past Friday finally came around and I drove into the oncology center for my third round of chemotherapy. When I walked down the hall, I was greeted by my favorite nurse practitioner (hands-down). How could she not be when she was pumping her fists and excitedly chanting, "Heidi Stoltz is in the house!" I can't help but feed off her energy; who says you can't have fun at the oncologist... definitely not Kris! After she checks my counts, my vitals, and my neck, I am deemed ready for another confrontation with chemo FINALLY (see, I have no patience). However, before we got up to leave, Kris cheered, "After this, you will be more than halfway done!" My forehead crinkled as I tried to make sense of this... "You mean, I will be halfway done after today." She then gave me the best news I could have ever heard: "We will confirm with your oncologist... but his notes clearly say a total of 4 chemotherapy treatments." Of course, I'm trying not to freak out in case it's a mistake, but we bump into my doctor in the hall and he confirms the truth: my body is responding so strongly to treatments that I only need a total of 4. BAM. Man, do I love my oncology peeps.
Yes, my mouth burns yet again and I'm nauseous every time I see the sign Noodles & Company... but there is an end in sight to you, my friend. And it is sooner than anyone but my God ever imagined. Now would be a good time to share with you the mantra I landed on for Year 24. It's the words in Psalm 34:8 - "Taste and see that the Lord is good!"... In just 10 short days of this year, I am already tasting and I am already seeing. Man, doesn't it pose the question: what does the Lord have in store these next 355 days?? Well, it's very clear: goodness, that's what. "I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living" (Psalm 27:13).
Yours Truly,
Heid
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Oh, happy endings.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
I've wrestled back and forth, tried over and over, gave it all that I have.... and I give up. I simply cannot sleep. Is this not one of the worst feelings a human being can ever experience? My eyes are so heavy from exhaustion, but I somehow can't seem to turn off all the thoughts racing around my out-of-control brain. Where is relief, I ask of you? It's about 6 AM and I've decided a mid-afternoon nap will have to do because surely I am getting no where. I very grudgingly decided to crawl downstairs, put on the fire (it was cold this morning, I swear), wrap myself in blankets, and pick up on our rusty correspondance. Sounds picturesque, but I'm pretty much a hater right now. You really have no idea how much I love my sleep, sir.
I can say I've experienced quite the range of emotions this past week. In fact, Sunday in particular, I traveled down both ends of the spectrum. I started off on one side that morning by teaching in Kid-O-Deo (our Early Childhood program at Eagle Brook Church). Ironically enough, the lesson was on Mark 5 when Jesus healed Jairus' daughter; the main point we drove home was that we can go to Jesus when we are feeling sick or hurt, and He has the awesome power to heal us. Gotta love God's humor. Here's where I experienced the joyful end of the gamut. Every weekend, at the end of the lesson, we have the Kid-Os get up on their feet and repeat a one sentence take-away starting with the words: "God Says." We start off whispering this phrase, and we quickly escalate to our outdoor voices because "I want to wake up the babies" (I can't help but fuel that). Because I'm always competitive, I ruffle up their feathers first by claiming I can be way louder than all of them, and I proceed before they can even rebuff. Get this: at my 11:05 service, I had 75 Kid-Os clench their hands into fists, suck in a huge breath, and at the top of their lungs, with veins popping out of their necks, they screamed at me, "GOD SAYS: JESUS HEALS YOU!" Goosebumps ran down my body, and I blinked back at the Kid-Os. Sir, sometimes you have to search diligently to find God in the place you're in (which Proverbs 8:17 promises it is there you will surely find Him)... but sometimes, God screams (in this case, literally) in your face and it would take everything in you not to listen. My Kid-Os had no idea what powerful words they were shouting, but I was again reminded (this time in the slightly aggressive voices of 3-,4-, and 5-year-olds) that my Lord certainly has the power to heal me and I can confidently walk in that victory. P.S. I won. I was way louder.
With that being said, my heart has indeed been enlightened to His incomparably great power (Ephesians 1:18-19) in which He has kept me strong.... but I so badly wish I could say this was always the case. That I consistently trusted in His plan and His ways. But it was even in that same day that I faltered. It was that very night you got to me, sir. I was reading like I often do before I nod off, and my neck began to itch. My hand moved to scratch the spot, and as it did, my fingers grazed the bump where the wire of my port is embedded... and it was then I swung over to the other side of the spectrum. Because here's where you got me: I have a device in my chest because of you. I have a shaved head because of treatment used to counter you. I have poison racing throughout my body to get rid of you. The thought that then moved to the forefront of my mind was this: I don't even feel human anymore. With a forlorn sigh, I rolled onto my back and bit my bottom lip to hold back the tears forming in my eyes. I laid there on the carpet staring at the ceiling for a few moments but couldn't hold it in any longer; the tears that used to normally catch in my hair instead freely flowed around the back of my head and soaked into the carpet. When will this be done, Lord? Augh, I'm already so over this.
My high school health class affirmed crying as a positive stress reliever, but I've learned that once I get it all out, I need to move onto something else before my thoughts begin to obsess over whatever the tough situation may be. This was no different; I needed to put a pause on thinking about my life and get lost in the story of another. So it was then that I did the unthinkable.... I picked up a fiction novel. See, if you know anything about me, Mr. Hodgkin's, I'm a Half Price Books fanatic, and when I step into this enchanted forest, I go straight to the Spiritual Living section (with an occassional pit stop in drawing/art) - but never fiction. However, that night, I did not want to dig deeper or develop anything in myself. You can only take life so seriously. So I opened up this fiction novel, Emily Ever After, and with each turn of a page, I walked alongside this woman who got too caught up in this sketch-of-a-man. When he broke her heart on page 176, he broke my heart. When he admitted he was using her to get over another girl and she wanted to punch him in the face, my fist started clenching. Irrational? Whatever. I just wanted her to be swept away by the precious high school "friend" that was obviously the right guy by His love for Jesus and the way he treated her. But this did get me thinking...
Sir, did you know I'm a hopeless romantic? Oh, a very shameless one indeed. Every book I read, every movie I watch, I root for the right guy to declare his love for the right girl, defeat any evil thrown at them, and then live happily ever after. But here is where I am convinced: don't we all? Don't we all, deep down, no matter how hurt we've been or what's let us down in the past, still hope for the good to win out in our lives? I'm finding the older I get (and have just turned one year wiser!) the more aware I am of people struggling, their pains, and their issues that it sometimes seems as if evil is running rampant. The little girl in me asks, "Why are the bad guys winning? When does the good pull through?" I'm also noticing when I voice these thoughts outloud, I can get laughed at by those that have experienced a "heart ache beyond the imagineable." I've heard, "Welcome to the real world" or "Get used to it" as they bless me with a pitied look and write me off as naive. What I'm really finding though, out of their mouths, is something purely cynical. This is neither pretty nor is this reality. Are you understanding what I'm getting at? We expect goodness, sir; it's wired in our very beings. This is obvious each time we feel slighted when someone fails us or something sets us back as if we didn't deserve that.
May I explain more? I've been talking about this book called the Bible. It's not only brilliant, but it's true and lasting. It lays the foundation for my life. Why? Because it's God's Word. Sometimes people just say that and they miss what they're actually saying...I'll repeat myself again with a bit more emphasis this time: it's God's WORD. It's God speaking to His people. Not just years ago, but today. My God's Word is "active, like a double-edged sword" (Hebrews 4:12).
If you take a step back and take a look at the Bible in it's entirety, you see this beautiful story unfold, a love story indeed (I know you're a boy, but follow with me). It begins with creation when God created man- not because He needed to but because He loved to. There, in the Garden of Eden, there was nothing but pure intimacy with God and with one another. Unfortunately, there is betrayal... "Only to be expected," says the cynic. Well, that's bitterness speaking and that's not how God works; that's how we work. Thankfully, we are His bride, and like any man should, the rest of the pages in the Bible mark His pursuit of us. His dying intent to win us back with the chance that we will return our hearts to Him. All throughout the Old Testament, God's people chase after other gods, demand other kings, and turn to other lovers. Page after page, God's love never changes. The unfaithfulness of His people, although very painful, could never beray His character. He continues to give them a clear invitation to return to Him, like a husband unconditionally loving his wife. But time after time, His people instead choose the sin that so easily entangles.
Would my God leave the story there? Again, He is the essence of good, loving, and patient. Like I've said before, He sent His Son to die for His people. To offer His love a way, the only way in fact, to return to Him. We of course have the free will to make this decision, but sir, I am determined to not be like the Israelites. To bring pain to my God by rejecting Him and being unfaithful after all He's done for me plainly makes me sick to think about. Oh yes, I will waver, no doubts about that, but my heart is resolved on staying in relationship with Him, and the best part: He is always more than gracious to steer me back on the well-beaten path. But how can I be confident in a happy ending, you ask? The City Harmonic sings it perfectly: "This is the story of the Son of God hanging on the cross for me. And it ends with a bride and groom and a wedding by a glassy sea. This is the story of a bride in white singing on her wedding day. Altogether that was and is can stand before her God and sing holy, holy, holy." In the end of the Bible, God promises to return for His bride. He would never leave us nor forsake us; in His perfect timing, He will restore my soul and intimacy with Him just like the original intent in the Garden of Eden. Sir, as someone who puts my faith in Jesus Christ, this world ends with a happy ending... and with it starts a beautiful beginning.
So here and today, Mr. Hodgkin's, I'm not going to let the rising action of my story deter me away from the hope I am promised. I will rise to the occasion, and in doing so, I will wait expectantly and hold out for my happy ending. How could I not? It's in no way naive, for my God repeatedly tells me to take heart (John 16:33), to continually have hope (Psalm 71:14), and trust that He is who He says He is and will do what He says He will do (Numbers 23:19). As His bride, I will remember this beautiful promise: "He will keep you strong to the end, so that you will be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ." Nothing you do can change that, sucka.
Yours Truly,
Heid
I've wrestled back and forth, tried over and over, gave it all that I have.... and I give up. I simply cannot sleep. Is this not one of the worst feelings a human being can ever experience? My eyes are so heavy from exhaustion, but I somehow can't seem to turn off all the thoughts racing around my out-of-control brain. Where is relief, I ask of you? It's about 6 AM and I've decided a mid-afternoon nap will have to do because surely I am getting no where. I very grudgingly decided to crawl downstairs, put on the fire (it was cold this morning, I swear), wrap myself in blankets, and pick up on our rusty correspondance. Sounds picturesque, but I'm pretty much a hater right now. You really have no idea how much I love my sleep, sir.
I can say I've experienced quite the range of emotions this past week. In fact, Sunday in particular, I traveled down both ends of the spectrum. I started off on one side that morning by teaching in Kid-O-Deo (our Early Childhood program at Eagle Brook Church). Ironically enough, the lesson was on Mark 5 when Jesus healed Jairus' daughter; the main point we drove home was that we can go to Jesus when we are feeling sick or hurt, and He has the awesome power to heal us. Gotta love God's humor. Here's where I experienced the joyful end of the gamut. Every weekend, at the end of the lesson, we have the Kid-Os get up on their feet and repeat a one sentence take-away starting with the words: "God Says." We start off whispering this phrase, and we quickly escalate to our outdoor voices because "I want to wake up the babies" (I can't help but fuel that). Because I'm always competitive, I ruffle up their feathers first by claiming I can be way louder than all of them, and I proceed before they can even rebuff. Get this: at my 11:05 service, I had 75 Kid-Os clench their hands into fists, suck in a huge breath, and at the top of their lungs, with veins popping out of their necks, they screamed at me, "GOD SAYS: JESUS HEALS YOU!" Goosebumps ran down my body, and I blinked back at the Kid-Os. Sir, sometimes you have to search diligently to find God in the place you're in (which Proverbs 8:17 promises it is there you will surely find Him)... but sometimes, God screams (in this case, literally) in your face and it would take everything in you not to listen. My Kid-Os had no idea what powerful words they were shouting, but I was again reminded (this time in the slightly aggressive voices of 3-,4-, and 5-year-olds) that my Lord certainly has the power to heal me and I can confidently walk in that victory. P.S. I won. I was way louder.
With that being said, my heart has indeed been enlightened to His incomparably great power (Ephesians 1:18-19) in which He has kept me strong.... but I so badly wish I could say this was always the case. That I consistently trusted in His plan and His ways. But it was even in that same day that I faltered. It was that very night you got to me, sir. I was reading like I often do before I nod off, and my neck began to itch. My hand moved to scratch the spot, and as it did, my fingers grazed the bump where the wire of my port is embedded... and it was then I swung over to the other side of the spectrum. Because here's where you got me: I have a device in my chest because of you. I have a shaved head because of treatment used to counter you. I have poison racing throughout my body to get rid of you. The thought that then moved to the forefront of my mind was this: I don't even feel human anymore. With a forlorn sigh, I rolled onto my back and bit my bottom lip to hold back the tears forming in my eyes. I laid there on the carpet staring at the ceiling for a few moments but couldn't hold it in any longer; the tears that used to normally catch in my hair instead freely flowed around the back of my head and soaked into the carpet. When will this be done, Lord? Augh, I'm already so over this.
My high school health class affirmed crying as a positive stress reliever, but I've learned that once I get it all out, I need to move onto something else before my thoughts begin to obsess over whatever the tough situation may be. This was no different; I needed to put a pause on thinking about my life and get lost in the story of another. So it was then that I did the unthinkable.... I picked up a fiction novel. See, if you know anything about me, Mr. Hodgkin's, I'm a Half Price Books fanatic, and when I step into this enchanted forest, I go straight to the Spiritual Living section (with an occassional pit stop in drawing/art) - but never fiction. However, that night, I did not want to dig deeper or develop anything in myself. You can only take life so seriously. So I opened up this fiction novel, Emily Ever After, and with each turn of a page, I walked alongside this woman who got too caught up in this sketch-of-a-man. When he broke her heart on page 176, he broke my heart. When he admitted he was using her to get over another girl and she wanted to punch him in the face, my fist started clenching. Irrational? Whatever. I just wanted her to be swept away by the precious high school "friend" that was obviously the right guy by His love for Jesus and the way he treated her. But this did get me thinking...
Sir, did you know I'm a hopeless romantic? Oh, a very shameless one indeed. Every book I read, every movie I watch, I root for the right guy to declare his love for the right girl, defeat any evil thrown at them, and then live happily ever after. But here is where I am convinced: don't we all? Don't we all, deep down, no matter how hurt we've been or what's let us down in the past, still hope for the good to win out in our lives? I'm finding the older I get (and have just turned one year wiser!) the more aware I am of people struggling, their pains, and their issues that it sometimes seems as if evil is running rampant. The little girl in me asks, "Why are the bad guys winning? When does the good pull through?" I'm also noticing when I voice these thoughts outloud, I can get laughed at by those that have experienced a "heart ache beyond the imagineable." I've heard, "Welcome to the real world" or "Get used to it" as they bless me with a pitied look and write me off as naive. What I'm really finding though, out of their mouths, is something purely cynical. This is neither pretty nor is this reality. Are you understanding what I'm getting at? We expect goodness, sir; it's wired in our very beings. This is obvious each time we feel slighted when someone fails us or something sets us back as if we didn't deserve that.
May I explain more? I've been talking about this book called the Bible. It's not only brilliant, but it's true and lasting. It lays the foundation for my life. Why? Because it's God's Word. Sometimes people just say that and they miss what they're actually saying...I'll repeat myself again with a bit more emphasis this time: it's God's WORD. It's God speaking to His people. Not just years ago, but today. My God's Word is "active, like a double-edged sword" (Hebrews 4:12).
If you take a step back and take a look at the Bible in it's entirety, you see this beautiful story unfold, a love story indeed (I know you're a boy, but follow with me). It begins with creation when God created man- not because He needed to but because He loved to. There, in the Garden of Eden, there was nothing but pure intimacy with God and with one another. Unfortunately, there is betrayal... "Only to be expected," says the cynic. Well, that's bitterness speaking and that's not how God works; that's how we work. Thankfully, we are His bride, and like any man should, the rest of the pages in the Bible mark His pursuit of us. His dying intent to win us back with the chance that we will return our hearts to Him. All throughout the Old Testament, God's people chase after other gods, demand other kings, and turn to other lovers. Page after page, God's love never changes. The unfaithfulness of His people, although very painful, could never beray His character. He continues to give them a clear invitation to return to Him, like a husband unconditionally loving his wife. But time after time, His people instead choose the sin that so easily entangles.
Would my God leave the story there? Again, He is the essence of good, loving, and patient. Like I've said before, He sent His Son to die for His people. To offer His love a way, the only way in fact, to return to Him. We of course have the free will to make this decision, but sir, I am determined to not be like the Israelites. To bring pain to my God by rejecting Him and being unfaithful after all He's done for me plainly makes me sick to think about. Oh yes, I will waver, no doubts about that, but my heart is resolved on staying in relationship with Him, and the best part: He is always more than gracious to steer me back on the well-beaten path. But how can I be confident in a happy ending, you ask? The City Harmonic sings it perfectly: "This is the story of the Son of God hanging on the cross for me. And it ends with a bride and groom and a wedding by a glassy sea. This is the story of a bride in white singing on her wedding day. Altogether that was and is can stand before her God and sing holy, holy, holy." In the end of the Bible, God promises to return for His bride. He would never leave us nor forsake us; in His perfect timing, He will restore my soul and intimacy with Him just like the original intent in the Garden of Eden. Sir, as someone who puts my faith in Jesus Christ, this world ends with a happy ending... and with it starts a beautiful beginning.
So here and today, Mr. Hodgkin's, I'm not going to let the rising action of my story deter me away from the hope I am promised. I will rise to the occasion, and in doing so, I will wait expectantly and hold out for my happy ending. How could I not? It's in no way naive, for my God repeatedly tells me to take heart (John 16:33), to continually have hope (Psalm 71:14), and trust that He is who He says He is and will do what He says He will do (Numbers 23:19). As His bride, I will remember this beautiful promise: "He will keep you strong to the end, so that you will be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ." Nothing you do can change that, sucka.
Yours Truly,
Heid
Friday, March 9, 2012
Oh, what's next... combat boots?
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
It is getting harder and harder to be cordial with you, sir, when you are so obviously my archnemesis. You are touring me through dark recesses and catapulting me into deep valleys. I have found that if I forget to saturate my mind with His promises for one day, I easily lose sight of His goodness and soon plead Psalm 31:22, "I had said in my alarm, 'I am cut off from Your sight.'" As soon as I catch myself feeling frantic for His hand, I then remember the second part of that verse: "But you heard the voice of my pleas for mercy when I cried to You for help." Over and over again, my God's Word reassures overwrought souls like mine with verses like, "God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved" more often that not. Sir, you know how to toy with my emotions, but my God is not so easily swayed by your influential devices. Ha, Mr. Hodgkin's, my God even scoffs at your attempts knowing full-well your threats will come to naught. Victory is a surname for my Lord and He will subjugate any arrows thrown against me. I've said this before, but I will say it again: you have been warned, my friend.
Why so vicious today, you ask? You have attacked and taken a precious thing this past week; thus, forgive my lack of fondness towards you, sir. Thankfully, what you meant for harm has not hurt my confidence or rattled my spirit. Instead, I am amazed at the consolation of my God who speaks tenderly to my heart and reminds me of the feminine beauty He has engrained in my very being. Am I getting ahead of myself? Sorry, it's just very clear to me I'm made to tell of His wonderful deeds, and sometimes I can't contain my outbursts... but I will try to slow down.
Like I have recently shared, particularly this past weekend, I noticed more strands of my red hair collecting on my brush than normal. However, it was getting to the point where I would pull out my hair binder, and in doing so, would take a handful of my hair with it. Gross. One thing you may not know about me, sir, is I very much dislike loose hair. What do I mean? There are some that fearfully jump away from slimy reptiles out of disgust, and there are some that see a loose strand of hair and gag a little. I am the latter. To what extent? I have a hard time swallowing angel hair spaghetti because of the close representation. Simply stated, unattached hair grosses me out... more than the average person. So when my locks started to disengage from my head, drastic measures needed to be taken... as soon as possible.
A couple weeks ago at my oh-so-awesome church, a sweet, generous woman by the name of Dana Widman approached me about an interesting idea. A friend of her's who had breast cancer started losing her hair, and instead of painfully dealing with this evident loss each day, she just shaved her head. But here's the best part: instead of seeing this as a somber time, she instead saw this as an opportunity to celebrate. To jubilate the obvious fact that chemo is working and invited her closest girlfriends to rejoice in this very reality. Dana is a very skilled photographer and offered to capture my story if I chose to do something like this. Hmmmm. I decided to let this sink in for a few days, not sure if my friends would be into the idea or if it would just freak them out. I got an answer the next day.
I was out to coffee enjoying BOGO day at Caribou with the thoughtful Jamie Francis and the congenial Rachel Otterness when I shared that my hair was starting to fall out. I watched their reactions closely and was surprised to see Jamie look at Rach and say as if it was obvious, "Well, tell us when you shave it because we need to be there." I wasn't planning on that kind of response and spoke back, "Really? You guys want to see that?" Without a pause, Rach said, "Well, duh. We're your peeps, in this with you all the way." After that conversation, done deal... I mean, when in Rome, right?
So within days, a shaving party was planned: invites were sent out, activities were organized, and the RSVP's came flooding in. I have to pause and tell you how great my friends are. With just a couple days notice, 10 of my closest girlfriends rearranged their schedules, came with sweet notes and gifts, and acted like this party was nothing out of the ordinary. Haha, never in my life would I have imagined myself hosting a shaving party. Never would I have dreamed at age 23 my friends and I were to celebrate chemo. I mean, seriously. What does the Lord have in store by this bizarre path I have found myself traveling down? Something beautiful, that's what.
The night before, I realized this was going to be the last time I would shower with my long hair (at least for this temporal season). As I poured an overwhelming amount of shampoo in my hand (hey, it was my last time- had to live it up), I lathered up my hair with suds and paused. I looked upwards, filled with a heavy wistfulness I've never before experienced and consumed with a deep longing for different measures, a different future. Those who know me remember last summer when I chopped my hair to an assymetrical bob... big mistake. As I've stated before, I'm a girl who loves side-swept braids and long wind-blown hair, so this was a very traumatic move. I cried when I saw pictures of my old locks and resolved to again grow my hair out to the deep lengths it once was. So much for that. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and told the Lord I would trust Him. He is good to me, sir. You tempt me to get lost into a sad perspective of the present, when I am set on remembering His plans to prosper me with hope and a good future. That's what faith is, sir. Trusting not what is seen, but what is unseen... "being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see" (Hebrews 11:1). I don't know why you scoff, mister; you just wait and see.
So Monday night, I celebrated like it was 1999 (such a great year, don't you concur?). Dana came early to photograph some "before" shots and I strutted around like the model I've always dreamed to be. She said, "Does it feel weird? I'm going to be your paparazzi tonight." I laughed back and joked, "You have no idea how awesome this is. I keep telling my 3rd floor co-workers that I was made for the spotlight." My mom rolled her eyes as she gave me one of her endearing looks (she knows it's true... I've always been pretty dramatic. That's why my parents signed me up for dance as a child; I lived for the recitals and settled for nothing but the front row). Soon, my dear friends showed up, and as we dug into the glorious $5 Pizza, these girls started to write letters that are marked for me to read each Monday I deal with chemo (kudos to Rach).
Surrounded by some of my closest friends and family, I decided to do it and just stated, "Let's shave this thing." With that, Cherie set up a chair, a gown, and her razor while I pulled out Psalm 91. There is a background with this psalm, but overall, it's my victory cry, sir. It's what I have read before my hospital visits, doctor's appointments, and it's what I read in the darkest of nights when fears overwhelm my soul. As I read promises of His complete protection and claimed Him as my Defender and Guard, tears dropped on the already-crinkled pages. Not because I was sad, sir, but because here in these pages, my God promises to answer me, to rescue me, to honor me, to guard me in all my ways. How could that not stir my heart? After I read the last line, my friends surrounded me and the fun began. We turned up some Justin Bieber and a little Flo Rida and decided to experiment a bit before the complete shave. I now know what I look like with a mohawk and as a "Pink-look-alike".... and let's just say, never going back. However, much to my surprise, I saw that I could rock a pixie-cut and plan to do that as soon as my precious red hair grows to that length. Finally, the time came... As the last pieces of my hair fell to the floor, I looked up to my God and the words of Hillsong sang throughout every fiber of my being: "Now unto the Lamb, who sits on the throne, be glory and honor and praise." What's done is done... and it is surely done. I looked back at my friends and heard words that still make my face wrinkle up as I try to keep in my tears: "Heidi! You are so beautiful. Your eyes are like...wow. I'm so proud of you, girl. Your beauty is strong and evident." I even got a few, "Man, you have a really nice-shaped head. You could totally rock the bald look." Yeah... combat boots, too? Oh, yes... really pretty, girls. Later, with their help, I learned how to put on a wig, and when I saw what volume I would soon have, I broke out in a huge grin (fine-hair girl problems... you wouldn't understand). We ended the night making bracelets that would bond us together in rememberance to pray for me and against you. If you want to experience the night through Dana's BEYOND-SKILLED photographs, feel free:
Let me tell you though, in the entirety of this night, Mr. Hodgkin's, my God held me as sure as a rock and His hands around me were more comforting than any cup of coffee ever would be (which is a big thing to say). I did not break down. Heck, I did not even shed a tear. I embraced it and celebrated that chemo was killing you. You will not last, sir. This home you have made in my neck will soon be demolished and destroyed to bits. When that happens, my friend, there will be no empathy from me. There will only be further celebration. My God has trained "my hands for war, my fingers for battle" (Psalm 144:1), and in this season, my attacks are aimed at you, Mr. Hodgkin's. Let me end with the same word Courtney from The Bachelor used against Emily (please also hear it in the same tone), "Winning." See, I knew there'd be real life application from that show.
Yours Truly,
Heid
It is getting harder and harder to be cordial with you, sir, when you are so obviously my archnemesis. You are touring me through dark recesses and catapulting me into deep valleys. I have found that if I forget to saturate my mind with His promises for one day, I easily lose sight of His goodness and soon plead Psalm 31:22, "I had said in my alarm, 'I am cut off from Your sight.'" As soon as I catch myself feeling frantic for His hand, I then remember the second part of that verse: "But you heard the voice of my pleas for mercy when I cried to You for help." Over and over again, my God's Word reassures overwrought souls like mine with verses like, "God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved" more often that not. Sir, you know how to toy with my emotions, but my God is not so easily swayed by your influential devices. Ha, Mr. Hodgkin's, my God even scoffs at your attempts knowing full-well your threats will come to naught. Victory is a surname for my Lord and He will subjugate any arrows thrown against me. I've said this before, but I will say it again: you have been warned, my friend.
Why so vicious today, you ask? You have attacked and taken a precious thing this past week; thus, forgive my lack of fondness towards you, sir. Thankfully, what you meant for harm has not hurt my confidence or rattled my spirit. Instead, I am amazed at the consolation of my God who speaks tenderly to my heart and reminds me of the feminine beauty He has engrained in my very being. Am I getting ahead of myself? Sorry, it's just very clear to me I'm made to tell of His wonderful deeds, and sometimes I can't contain my outbursts... but I will try to slow down.
Like I have recently shared, particularly this past weekend, I noticed more strands of my red hair collecting on my brush than normal. However, it was getting to the point where I would pull out my hair binder, and in doing so, would take a handful of my hair with it. Gross. One thing you may not know about me, sir, is I very much dislike loose hair. What do I mean? There are some that fearfully jump away from slimy reptiles out of disgust, and there are some that see a loose strand of hair and gag a little. I am the latter. To what extent? I have a hard time swallowing angel hair spaghetti because of the close representation. Simply stated, unattached hair grosses me out... more than the average person. So when my locks started to disengage from my head, drastic measures needed to be taken... as soon as possible.
A couple weeks ago at my oh-so-awesome church, a sweet, generous woman by the name of Dana Widman approached me about an interesting idea. A friend of her's who had breast cancer started losing her hair, and instead of painfully dealing with this evident loss each day, she just shaved her head. But here's the best part: instead of seeing this as a somber time, she instead saw this as an opportunity to celebrate. To jubilate the obvious fact that chemo is working and invited her closest girlfriends to rejoice in this very reality. Dana is a very skilled photographer and offered to capture my story if I chose to do something like this. Hmmmm. I decided to let this sink in for a few days, not sure if my friends would be into the idea or if it would just freak them out. I got an answer the next day.
I was out to coffee enjoying BOGO day at Caribou with the thoughtful Jamie Francis and the congenial Rachel Otterness when I shared that my hair was starting to fall out. I watched their reactions closely and was surprised to see Jamie look at Rach and say as if it was obvious, "Well, tell us when you shave it because we need to be there." I wasn't planning on that kind of response and spoke back, "Really? You guys want to see that?" Without a pause, Rach said, "Well, duh. We're your peeps, in this with you all the way." After that conversation, done deal... I mean, when in Rome, right?
So within days, a shaving party was planned: invites were sent out, activities were organized, and the RSVP's came flooding in. I have to pause and tell you how great my friends are. With just a couple days notice, 10 of my closest girlfriends rearranged their schedules, came with sweet notes and gifts, and acted like this party was nothing out of the ordinary. Haha, never in my life would I have imagined myself hosting a shaving party. Never would I have dreamed at age 23 my friends and I were to celebrate chemo. I mean, seriously. What does the Lord have in store by this bizarre path I have found myself traveling down? Something beautiful, that's what.
The night before, I realized this was going to be the last time I would shower with my long hair (at least for this temporal season). As I poured an overwhelming amount of shampoo in my hand (hey, it was my last time- had to live it up), I lathered up my hair with suds and paused. I looked upwards, filled with a heavy wistfulness I've never before experienced and consumed with a deep longing for different measures, a different future. Those who know me remember last summer when I chopped my hair to an assymetrical bob... big mistake. As I've stated before, I'm a girl who loves side-swept braids and long wind-blown hair, so this was a very traumatic move. I cried when I saw pictures of my old locks and resolved to again grow my hair out to the deep lengths it once was. So much for that. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and told the Lord I would trust Him. He is good to me, sir. You tempt me to get lost into a sad perspective of the present, when I am set on remembering His plans to prosper me with hope and a good future. That's what faith is, sir. Trusting not what is seen, but what is unseen... "being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see" (Hebrews 11:1). I don't know why you scoff, mister; you just wait and see.
So Monday night, I celebrated like it was 1999 (such a great year, don't you concur?). Dana came early to photograph some "before" shots and I strutted around like the model I've always dreamed to be. She said, "Does it feel weird? I'm going to be your paparazzi tonight." I laughed back and joked, "You have no idea how awesome this is. I keep telling my 3rd floor co-workers that I was made for the spotlight." My mom rolled her eyes as she gave me one of her endearing looks (she knows it's true... I've always been pretty dramatic. That's why my parents signed me up for dance as a child; I lived for the recitals and settled for nothing but the front row). Soon, my dear friends showed up, and as we dug into the glorious $5 Pizza, these girls started to write letters that are marked for me to read each Monday I deal with chemo (kudos to Rach).
Surrounded by some of my closest friends and family, I decided to do it and just stated, "Let's shave this thing." With that, Cherie set up a chair, a gown, and her razor while I pulled out Psalm 91. There is a background with this psalm, but overall, it's my victory cry, sir. It's what I have read before my hospital visits, doctor's appointments, and it's what I read in the darkest of nights when fears overwhelm my soul. As I read promises of His complete protection and claimed Him as my Defender and Guard, tears dropped on the already-crinkled pages. Not because I was sad, sir, but because here in these pages, my God promises to answer me, to rescue me, to honor me, to guard me in all my ways. How could that not stir my heart? After I read the last line, my friends surrounded me and the fun began. We turned up some Justin Bieber and a little Flo Rida and decided to experiment a bit before the complete shave. I now know what I look like with a mohawk and as a "Pink-look-alike".... and let's just say, never going back. However, much to my surprise, I saw that I could rock a pixie-cut and plan to do that as soon as my precious red hair grows to that length. Finally, the time came... As the last pieces of my hair fell to the floor, I looked up to my God and the words of Hillsong sang throughout every fiber of my being: "Now unto the Lamb, who sits on the throne, be glory and honor and praise." What's done is done... and it is surely done. I looked back at my friends and heard words that still make my face wrinkle up as I try to keep in my tears: "Heidi! You are so beautiful. Your eyes are like...wow. I'm so proud of you, girl. Your beauty is strong and evident." I even got a few, "Man, you have a really nice-shaped head. You could totally rock the bald look." Yeah... combat boots, too? Oh, yes... really pretty, girls. Later, with their help, I learned how to put on a wig, and when I saw what volume I would soon have, I broke out in a huge grin (fine-hair girl problems... you wouldn't understand). We ended the night making bracelets that would bond us together in rememberance to pray for me and against you. If you want to experience the night through Dana's BEYOND-SKILLED photographs, feel free:
Let me tell you though, in the entirety of this night, Mr. Hodgkin's, my God held me as sure as a rock and His hands around me were more comforting than any cup of coffee ever would be (which is a big thing to say). I did not break down. Heck, I did not even shed a tear. I embraced it and celebrated that chemo was killing you. You will not last, sir. This home you have made in my neck will soon be demolished and destroyed to bits. When that happens, my friend, there will be no empathy from me. There will only be further celebration. My God has trained "my hands for war, my fingers for battle" (Psalm 144:1), and in this season, my attacks are aimed at you, Mr. Hodgkin's. Let me end with the same word Courtney from The Bachelor used against Emily (please also hear it in the same tone), "Winning." See, I knew there'd be real life application from that show.
Yours Truly,
Heid
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