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
Monday, April 30, 2012
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
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