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
Sunday, March 25, 2012
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
Friday, March 2, 2012
Oh, how I do love surprises.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
It's safe to say you have new surprises for me each week...how thoughtful. I must say you are a very complex man with plenty of conniving tricks up your sleeve. So grateful to be on the receiving end of your charities (I'll be sorely disappointed if you miss the heavy sarcasm). The first curveball was twisting chemo's efforts to your advantage and lowering my white blood cell count so low that I should be in something called "reverse isolation." I can see you find this very funny. Well, sir, 80% of people do not deal with side-effects from WBC injections I've been subjected to. But like I said before, my luck is not the greatest. Not only did I have side-effects, but I had them so bad, tylenol was to no relief. What was my reaction? I dealt with something called "bone pain."
Sounds made-up, right? Well, after experiencing such discomfort, it is very clear how real of a thing it actually is. Care for some education in this correspondence, sir? I learned that each injection stimulated my bone marrow to release more white blood cells. In the process, my bone marrow freaked. It sent shooting pains throughout my lower back; so much so, that it caused my body to twitch almost like a ripple effect all the way up to my shoulders. Do you realize how scary that was? I walked into my parents' house one night just bawling because, for the first time in my life, I could not control what my body was doing. Man, am I glad that night is over. Thankfully, the next day I went to my doctor to get my second shot for that week, and she assured me that side-effect lasts only for 24 hours and relieved me further by prescribing Vicodin. With this lovely drug, my parents' gifting of a heating pad, and patience (which I do not necessarily have a lot of), that 24 hours came and went. Just like everything else in this world, right? There's a bit of free wisdom for you, sucka.
Because my WBC count is so low, my doctor (and my concerned nurse friends) have strongly advised me to wash my hands often, stay away from public places, and take care of my personal hygiene. Okay, wash my hands: check. Stay away from public places: not going to happen (StrengthsFinder says, as a Woo, it's engrained in my very being to surround myself with many people in a variety of places - including those that are public. Sorry, I can't change how I'm wired). And take care of my personal hygiene: this may be quite the challenge. Let me enlighten you on my showering habits (my mom is going to be mortified... but my sister equally proud). I'll be direct: I hate to shower. It's nothing but a waste of time. Sure, I do it (for the sake of others), but there are many a times I go without. Let me share a story:
When I played volleyball at Northwestern College, we would often travel on weekends to play at our competitors' universities. I remember one weekend in particular where we had a game Friday night, then another Saturday morning, and a final match Saturday late afernoon. After each game, our team would hit the showers... well, not every player. Meaning, not myself. After the Friday night game, I told my team, "Why shower tonight? We'll just sweat again in the morning." Many of them nodded in agreement with my logic (for some puzzling reason though, they still showered). I would instead hop on the bus, pull out my iPod, and start doing my homework. After the Saturday morning match, my team and then my coach prodded, "Heidi, don't you think you should probably shower now?" But my logic still stands: why shower if I'm going to get sweaty in just a few hours? After the last game, I'll admit, cold sweat was caked onto my skin, but that's nothing compared to the amount of homework I had already finished, and thus, the extra sleep I got that night! Time well spent... obviously. As my doctor would state, "The benefits far outweigh the risk." Applicable here too, I'd say.
Going back, my last shot was Wednesday, and I've been prancing around like none other... but then, something delightful happened (surely you have picked up on my sarcastic humor by now). I was brushing my hair after a shower (see, I still do it), and as I set my brush down on the vanity, I saw it had caught more red hair than normal. Interesting... I shrugged it off and went through with the rest of the day. However, the next morning, I once again combed my hair, and to my dread, my brush was again filled with quite a few strands. Things started to click and I realized what was happening. Sure, I had heard of others undergoing chemo who have mourned the loss of their hair, but I had also heard of others testifying how this was not their case. Us redheads are pretty resilient and stubborn, so I assumed I would be in the category of the latter. Hmm, oops. Sir, I know it's unnoticeable to others right now, but I also know it's just a matter of time. Gulp.
I can deal with the pain, but this? This is a completely different beast, Mr. Hodgkin's. This may be vain, but I'm just like any other 23-year-old girl (soon to be 24... March 15!) who values what her hair brings to the table. I understand this is a temporary thing (my hair should grow back completely 6 months after treatment), but... eh. You are a boy, so you probably won't understand, but I'll try to share what's so important about hair... my hair in particular: 1) I just care to look nice, sir. 2) It's fun for me to wear my hair in girlish braids when running to the nearest coffee shop or rocking a messy bun on the top of my head when I throw on the sweats at night. 3) Some peeps call me, "Red"...now that I think about it... it could be because of my skin tone. Okay, if so, that's obnoxious. 4) And someday, I want to attract the right man who will be my husband (and I was sure the red hair would be the ticket). 5) Having hair is just plain normal. I wish I could explain it better, but mister, I appreciate my hair and I'm sad at you for messing with it. Upset at chemo for her plans to rid me of it.
Before I sign off, I will have you know I woke up this morning just as displeased as ever. The reality of this loss further sinking in. So here is what I did: put my Kari Jobe album on shuffle, pulled out my Bible, and sought the Lord in this place I'm finding myself in. Why, you ask? Like Peter says in John 6, who else would I turn to? For my God is the only One who has the words that give eternal life. Psalm 68:19 tells me my Savior "daily bears my burdens." So today, when I'm feeling so devastated by losing something that others may see as trivial, my God takes on that weight as if it was His own. And that understanding, that compassion, my friend, is incomparable. Plainly stated, He steadies my heart.
It was here, in this encounter this morning, that He gently changed my focus through Kari's song called "We Are." Let me share a few lines with you, sir: "Every fear lives inside the dark, but that's not who we are: we are children of the day. Wake up sleeper, lift your head. We were meant for more than this: fight the shadows, conquer death, make the most of the time we have left." This got my blood pumping as I was soon bouncing on my bed, bobbing my head in an emphatic yes, and grinning up at the sky to the One who has no problem shedding light into any shadow of darkness I find myself in. My time here is precious and I hope to not waste it. Sir, I'm still not excited about losing any bit of my hair, but I trust the One who has me in the palm of His hand and declares, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." Got it. I don't know what tomorrow's battles will be, but I don't have to... He knows, and even as my heart beats wildly, I choose to trust in His plan. Bring it, sir.
Yours Truly,
Heid
It's safe to say you have new surprises for me each week...how thoughtful. I must say you are a very complex man with plenty of conniving tricks up your sleeve. So grateful to be on the receiving end of your charities (I'll be sorely disappointed if you miss the heavy sarcasm). The first curveball was twisting chemo's efforts to your advantage and lowering my white blood cell count so low that I should be in something called "reverse isolation." I can see you find this very funny. Well, sir, 80% of people do not deal with side-effects from WBC injections I've been subjected to. But like I said before, my luck is not the greatest. Not only did I have side-effects, but I had them so bad, tylenol was to no relief. What was my reaction? I dealt with something called "bone pain."
Sounds made-up, right? Well, after experiencing such discomfort, it is very clear how real of a thing it actually is. Care for some education in this correspondence, sir? I learned that each injection stimulated my bone marrow to release more white blood cells. In the process, my bone marrow freaked. It sent shooting pains throughout my lower back; so much so, that it caused my body to twitch almost like a ripple effect all the way up to my shoulders. Do you realize how scary that was? I walked into my parents' house one night just bawling because, for the first time in my life, I could not control what my body was doing. Man, am I glad that night is over. Thankfully, the next day I went to my doctor to get my second shot for that week, and she assured me that side-effect lasts only for 24 hours and relieved me further by prescribing Vicodin. With this lovely drug, my parents' gifting of a heating pad, and patience (which I do not necessarily have a lot of), that 24 hours came and went. Just like everything else in this world, right? There's a bit of free wisdom for you, sucka.
Because my WBC count is so low, my doctor (and my concerned nurse friends) have strongly advised me to wash my hands often, stay away from public places, and take care of my personal hygiene. Okay, wash my hands: check. Stay away from public places: not going to happen (StrengthsFinder says, as a Woo, it's engrained in my very being to surround myself with many people in a variety of places - including those that are public. Sorry, I can't change how I'm wired). And take care of my personal hygiene: this may be quite the challenge. Let me enlighten you on my showering habits (my mom is going to be mortified... but my sister equally proud). I'll be direct: I hate to shower. It's nothing but a waste of time. Sure, I do it (for the sake of others), but there are many a times I go without. Let me share a story:
When I played volleyball at Northwestern College, we would often travel on weekends to play at our competitors' universities. I remember one weekend in particular where we had a game Friday night, then another Saturday morning, and a final match Saturday late afernoon. After each game, our team would hit the showers... well, not every player. Meaning, not myself. After the Friday night game, I told my team, "Why shower tonight? We'll just sweat again in the morning." Many of them nodded in agreement with my logic (for some puzzling reason though, they still showered). I would instead hop on the bus, pull out my iPod, and start doing my homework. After the Saturday morning match, my team and then my coach prodded, "Heidi, don't you think you should probably shower now?" But my logic still stands: why shower if I'm going to get sweaty in just a few hours? After the last game, I'll admit, cold sweat was caked onto my skin, but that's nothing compared to the amount of homework I had already finished, and thus, the extra sleep I got that night! Time well spent... obviously. As my doctor would state, "The benefits far outweigh the risk." Applicable here too, I'd say.
Going back, my last shot was Wednesday, and I've been prancing around like none other... but then, something delightful happened (surely you have picked up on my sarcastic humor by now). I was brushing my hair after a shower (see, I still do it), and as I set my brush down on the vanity, I saw it had caught more red hair than normal. Interesting... I shrugged it off and went through with the rest of the day. However, the next morning, I once again combed my hair, and to my dread, my brush was again filled with quite a few strands. Things started to click and I realized what was happening. Sure, I had heard of others undergoing chemo who have mourned the loss of their hair, but I had also heard of others testifying how this was not their case. Us redheads are pretty resilient and stubborn, so I assumed I would be in the category of the latter. Hmm, oops. Sir, I know it's unnoticeable to others right now, but I also know it's just a matter of time. Gulp.
I can deal with the pain, but this? This is a completely different beast, Mr. Hodgkin's. This may be vain, but I'm just like any other 23-year-old girl (soon to be 24... March 15!) who values what her hair brings to the table. I understand this is a temporary thing (my hair should grow back completely 6 months after treatment), but... eh. You are a boy, so you probably won't understand, but I'll try to share what's so important about hair... my hair in particular: 1) I just care to look nice, sir. 2) It's fun for me to wear my hair in girlish braids when running to the nearest coffee shop or rocking a messy bun on the top of my head when I throw on the sweats at night. 3) Some peeps call me, "Red"...now that I think about it... it could be because of my skin tone. Okay, if so, that's obnoxious. 4) And someday, I want to attract the right man who will be my husband (and I was sure the red hair would be the ticket). 5) Having hair is just plain normal. I wish I could explain it better, but mister, I appreciate my hair and I'm sad at you for messing with it. Upset at chemo for her plans to rid me of it.
Before I sign off, I will have you know I woke up this morning just as displeased as ever. The reality of this loss further sinking in. So here is what I did: put my Kari Jobe album on shuffle, pulled out my Bible, and sought the Lord in this place I'm finding myself in. Why, you ask? Like Peter says in John 6, who else would I turn to? For my God is the only One who has the words that give eternal life. Psalm 68:19 tells me my Savior "daily bears my burdens." So today, when I'm feeling so devastated by losing something that others may see as trivial, my God takes on that weight as if it was His own. And that understanding, that compassion, my friend, is incomparable. Plainly stated, He steadies my heart.
It was here, in this encounter this morning, that He gently changed my focus through Kari's song called "We Are." Let me share a few lines with you, sir: "Every fear lives inside the dark, but that's not who we are: we are children of the day. Wake up sleeper, lift your head. We were meant for more than this: fight the shadows, conquer death, make the most of the time we have left." This got my blood pumping as I was soon bouncing on my bed, bobbing my head in an emphatic yes, and grinning up at the sky to the One who has no problem shedding light into any shadow of darkness I find myself in. My time here is precious and I hope to not waste it. Sir, I'm still not excited about losing any bit of my hair, but I trust the One who has me in the palm of His hand and declares, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." Got it. I don't know what tomorrow's battles will be, but I don't have to... He knows, and even as my heart beats wildly, I choose to trust in His plan. Bring it, sir.
Yours Truly,
Heid
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