Beauty and Dutch Bros

Three of my favorite accessories. These boys make me feel beautiful:-

A few weeks ago, I pulled up to Dutch Bros and immediately felt something I truly hadn't felt since my diagnosis: envy.  The Dutch Bros girl was adorable!  She had a trim little waist, lovely face and...BEAUTIFUL flowing hair, all blond, curly and everywhere.  Seriously, this girl had Disney-princess hair cascading down to her waist!  She was truly beautiful.  I ordered drinks for me and my boys, feeling glaringly bald and pudgy and kinda mad about it. I was tired of feeling bald, tired of wearing the evidence of my disease everywhere I went, tired of trying to convince myself I wasn't super bummed about the way I looked.  Feeling self-conscious seemed so shallow in the face of all that my family was going through and in light of all that God was doing for me.  And yet, every time I looked in the mirror, all I could see were my scars, my naked head, the extra pounds that the darn steroids gave me...I definitely didn't see anything beautiful in that reflection.

The cute Dutch Bros girl snapped me out of my pity-party as she handed me my drinks.  I tried to give her some money, but she smiled and said, "Nope, this is on me tonight." I asked her why, and she simply kept smiling and said, "Have a blessed night."

I drove away feeling very put in my place and truly blessed.  That young girl's beauty didn't come from her Rapunzel-hair; it came from her sweet spirit.  I felt a glimmer of God trying to show me something as I drove on to a night of worship at my church.  That night, the worship band led us in singing "Beautiful Things."  The chorus goes: "You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of dust.  You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of us."  God was reminding me that his definition of beauty is so very different than mine.

I'm not going to pretend that ever since that moment, I have stopped struggling with self-image issues.  I still grapple with the changes that my body has undergone these past six months.  But I am starting to understand that the truly beautiful part of me is my spirit.  The apostle Peter tells us, "Your beauty should not come from outward adornment...instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight" (1 Peter 3:3-4).  Now I don't think Peter means that I should never be loud, which is fortunate for me, since I usually have a lot to say.  I do think, however, that a gentle and quiet spirit is one that has learned to be completely dependent on the Lord and not shakeable by passing circumstances.  And this is truly a lesson that God has been teaching me.  I have felt more and more peace and comfort from the Lord that defies my circumstances, and- according to scripture- that is what the Lord finds beautiful in his sight.

I know that my hair will grow back, the reconstruction surgery will hide some of my scars and I will (hopefully) lose the weight.  But I pray that my "beauty" will always come from what the Lord is doing with my spirit.  For those of you who struggle with this too, I pray that you will begin to see yourself as God sees you.  He sees you as one he has fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalms 139:14).  He delights in your unique qualities and is thrilled when you do things that make you look more like him.

Thank you lovely Dutch Bros girl for reminding me that it is not how we look but what we do that truly makes us beautiful.

Confession time

Hey all!  So, I wish that I had something inspiring or even clever to say, but I really don't.  God is still blessing me in numerous ways and teaching me things daily, yet mostly I'm just missing my mom and seriously struggling with chemo brain (which means there is not much conherent, linear thought going on in my head right now).  I am thankful for my family, friends and most of all God who all keep bringing me joy even during my sadness; the approaching holidays are a bittersweet reminder of how joy and pain are often intermixed.  I am so excited to experience another Thanksgiving with my husband and sweet boys and yet there is an element of trying to just get through this time without my mom who was behind so much of the festivities for the last twenty-eight years of my life.

Anyway, I say this not to complain or say woe-is-me or even to make an excuse for the huge gaps between blog posts (although that is a tiny bit of my motivation).  I mainly want to tell you all that one of the things I am extremely thankful for this Thanksgiving is all of you.  You have been a constant encouragement since I started this blog, and I feel very privileged to connect with all of you through this avenue.  Also, I want to encourage anyone who is also approaching the holidays with mixed emotions.  God knows my heart and yours, and he understands our stunted cheeriness.  Jesus said, "Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light" (Matthew 11:28-30).  So this Thanksgiving, I am most thankful for a Savior who loves me enough to provide rest for my soul.  May you feel this peace as the bustle of the holidays takes hold.  May you feel light, may you feel supported and may you know that Jesus carries your burdens.  Happy Thanksgiving!

Christmas's Greatest Gift: Hope

Carrying on my favorite tradition with my boy

My mama was amazing at creating traditions and celebrating.  I grew up getting a special card or treat for every holiday.  When I went away to college, I got a Valentine's Day box of goodies, a St. Patty's Day box of goodies, a President's Day box of goodies…you get the idea.  And when it came to Christmas, she went all out. Every December 1st, she pulled out all the Christmas books (of which there were many because we got a new one every Christmas Eve), turned out all of the lights at bedtime, lit dozens of candles and cozied up to us kids and read us a Christmas story. We did that every night in December until Christmas.  We also opened a door on our Advent Calendar every night, got a new Christmas ornament she had chosen especially for us and some new Christmas jammies every Christmas Eve, opened our presents a certain way, had a special breakfast every Christmas morning, etc.  Our Christmases were full of love and tradition and the tradition was all infused with love.  Her ritualistic, almost sacred way of laying out the nativity always reminded us of what Christmas was all about, and her excitement on Christmas morning as we dove into our stockings matched our own.  This phenomenal women used traditions to lavish my dad, my brothers and I with love.

Which is why I've wondered how I'll handle this Christmas.  Will it be devastating to try to get through it without her?  Will it be torture to continue her traditions in her absence?  Or will it be like a balm to my aching spirit, much like reading her old texts or wrapping myself in a scarf she gave me has been these last few months?  I'm definitely hoping the latter, but as I ponder the approaching holiday season, I am struck with the reason for the season (if I may use a cliche).  For the true joy of Christmas stands out to me now more than ever in light of my sadness.

It was during Easter time this last year that I realized Mama was not going to beat ovarian cancer.  It was a secret admission in my heart that I barely even whispered to my husband, because I still was holding out for my version of a miracle and I knew Mama had not and would not give up.  But as I stood and sang praises in church on Easter Sunday, I was filled with the magnitude of Jesus' sacrifice in a way I never had been before.  Jesus died so that I would never truly have to say good-bye to my mama, my best friend.  He died that terrible death, conquered the grave and rose again so that my mama and I might have a reunion more beautiful than I could ever imagine.  Needless to say, on that day I felt a thankfulness and a love for my Savior that surpassed my lifetime of worship to him. 

While I still am so thankful for the promise of Easter, I have now had to say good-bye to my beautiful mama.  I've had to live with her absence, an absence that is so screamingly apparent in everything I do that I'm surprised when people don't notice it all the time.  C.S. Lewis said, "The death of a loved one is an amputation" (

A Grief Observed). 

This so accurately describes how I feel that I sometimes wonder how to function in the same way I imagine feeling at a loss at how to function without my left leg.  And having actually had my breasts amputated, I understand the ghostly feeling like they're still there, just like when I pick up the phone to call my mom before my mind catches up and cruelly reminds me that she cannot answer.  Christians still grieve.  But I grieve with hope. And this hope is effervescent to me as Christmas approaches.

The story of baby Jesus is so much more than the simple "Away in a Manger" we've grown up on.  This was a huge step in God's battle against death.  By sending his son in the form of a baby, he put the Easter story into motion and rang the victory gong against separation between him and his creation.  I'm trying to imagine what it would be like to truly believe my mom was gone forever (a thought so horrible, it's hard to even type), and someone telling me I'm wrong and I will see her again.  This is part of the promise that came wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger.  The shepherds and wise men understood what baby Jesus meant.  I would have come running to bow at Jesus' feet too if I had had the privilege to be with them.  

But death still hurts…a lot!  Yet this is where God's grace is further exhibited.  Just like God created our bodies to heal and even thrive after an amputation, he created our souls to heal as well.  The book

Grieving the Loss of Someone You love

says, "We can take our denial, our rage, our desire to bargain and our sadness to our loving heavenly Father, who can and will carve stepping stones of them--stepping stones leading to acceptance, and ultimately, healing"  (17).  Paul reminds us to encourage each other with the reminder that we will be together with those who have died, and "we will be with the Lord forever" (1 Thessalonians 4:17).  This hope helps us to heal.

So remember that this Christmas is a celebration of God's plan that began the journey in which I get to see my mother again, in which we all have the gift of eternal life if we will but accept it and in which we have been granted access to God who can handle whatever we throw at him in our grief.  And He will literally wrap his arms around us as the winds of pain tear at our hearts.