Posts Tagged ‘young adult cancer survivor’

09
Jan
2018

Guilt of Life By Reality of Death

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My heart sinks like a heavy weight in the bottom of my chest. My anxiety pushes through my body, stealing air from my lungs. My pulse quickens and my mind wanders. I don’t want to face this. I don’t want to talk about it. I’d rather lock it inside behind the smile on my face. Yet no matter how much I try to avoid the topic, it bubbles up in my throat like flaming lava searching for an exit. Though I don’t want to address it, I know I must.

The weight of survival is heavier than I was prepared for. Especially when not everyone has the opportunity to live. The guilt of life caused by the reality of death is piercing and painful and unexpected.

Grief has shown itself in different forms throughout my life. Sadness was expressed in anger when my parents divorced in my childhood. Fear was cloaked in avoidance when I was first diagnosed with cancer. And, most recently, guilt hid behind overwhelming and undefinable anxiety. I was anxious, yet unsure why. I felt lost though I knew where I stood. I was burdened by a sadness that haunted the hidden places of my heart. But I was alive and well, surviving, though confused about my sorrow.

Survivor’s guilt is something I knew nothing about prior to entering the gates of Cancerland. It’s a form of grief that I didn’t know existed until years after surviving an often fatal disease. Whenever I had heard the term “survivor’s guilt,” it was always in regards to soldiers returning from war or survivors returning from some form of disaster. I saw news highlights about people overcome with guilt that their fellow passengers did not survive the same accident that they had. Those who were buried in sorrow because they lived when others did not. Those angry, questioning “Why me?!” And here I am now, having survived a diagnosis that continues to claim the lives of thousands around me, sitting in the thick of survivor’s guilt for the very first time.

When I was first diagnosed with a very rare and aggressive, stage 3, metastatic, neuroendocrine cancer in 2012, I never asked why. I didn’t lie awake in bed at night wondering what I had done to deserve the sickness bestowed upon me. I didn’t question my life. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t depressed. I was simply ready to live and willing to do whatever it took. My eyes were set forward, my posture strong.

During my fight against the third recurrence of my disease, my grandfather was diagnosed with a similarly aggressive type of cancer and ultimately succumbed to the diagnosis. And though I heavily grieved the loss of my dear Papa, survivor’s guilt never showed itself. When one of my close friends entered a surgery that I too had received, only to develop a blood clot and suddenly passed away on the recovery table, guilt never surfaced. I was terribly grief-stricken, but not guilty. With each day, month, and year that goes by, people around me, several of whom I was close with, have died from cancer. Though it wasn’t until the most recent loss of an incredible woman in our cancer community, I never experienced survivor’s guilt.

Melissa was a warrior. She was full of faith and proclaimed her powerful testimony each and every day. She spread hope like wildfire, offering a positive perspective to those of us who knew and loved her. She valiantly fought metastatic breast cancer even when it spread to her spine and brain. She continued to post encouraging messages on social media and consistently clung to Jesus. She was a light to us all. And then, days before Christmas, she took her last breath and left for Heaven.

I was paralyzed in grief. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t be angry. I couldn’t put words to my feelings. While several friends around me posted thoughtful and heartfelt messages of remembrance of a life well lived and taken too soon, I retreated. In fact, when Melissa stopped posting as frequently on social media, so did I. It wasn’t fair. She beat cancer, it was never supposed to return. It wasn’t fair. I couldn’t find words to say. I felt guilty for being alive, for smiling, for laughing, for loving, for living. It wasn’t fair. I was guilty for surviving because she did not.

I am coming to understand that survivor’s guilt is purely an expression of grief. Guilt is birthed in our grief when we lose a loved one to something that we survived. Survivor’s guilt is the “Why me?” when we are cancer-free and they are not. Survivor’s guilt is the “If only…” when reflecting on our relationship with the one who has passed. If only I had talked to her more. If only I had prayed for her more. If only. Survivor’s guilt is feeling like you are wasting the chance you’ve been given. Survivor’s guilt is the burden of life amidst the reality of death. Survivor’s guilt is a comparison of their circumstance and your own. Survivor’s guilt is the “Should have” and “Could not.”

It’s easy to become enveloped in self-punishing thoughts and feelings of guilt. It’s difficult to face these emotions. But until we do, we dishonor the lives cut short. When I made the conscious effort to be still and listen to my feelings, I realized that being trapped in guilt does nothing but punish myself and diminish my own life. I had to step outside of my grief and understand that those we have lost would not want us to live a life buried by guilt and sorrow.

We are alive and we must live. For those who are not, cannot.

Matthew 5:4 (MSG)

“You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.”

PC: Kim Mitiska Photography

26
Oct
2017

My Gluten-Free, Dairy-Free, Sugar-Free Vegan Lifestyle

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The numbers on the scale continued to rise. I was bewildered and depressed knowing that my diet hadn’t changed at all. As my clothes grew tighter and my stomach more bloated, I realized that my assumptions had been wrong. Cancer treatment was not a sure way to lose weight, and in fact, many women actually gain weight during chemotherapy. I gained thirty pounds within the first six months of treatment.

I’ll never forget my very first chemo. A nutritionist came in to talk to me about diet and nutrition. He said that I would lose my appetite and that I needed to focus on consuming more calories than I was used to, to ensure that my body remained strong. He said, “If you want chocolate, eat chocolate. When you’re hungry, eat whatever sounds good.” And while this may be sound advice for those who truly do lose their appetites, for me, it was neither helpful nor beneficial to my fight against cancer.

The truth is, there are more opinions about the cause of cancer than I even care to address. Will being in the sun increase your chance of getting cancer? Yes. Will consuming copious amounts of sugar fuel the disease? I’m sure. Will eating red meat propel the growth of cancer cells? Maybe. Are there ways we can reduce our exposure and risk of getting cancer? More than likely. Do high-fiber, cruciferous, plant-based diets combat malignancies? Probably. There are books, websites, and plentiful resources that completely conflict with each other. How do we even begin to decide what is right? My answer? Do you what you feel is best for you. Read those books, watch those documentaries, listen to those professionals, and scour the resources, but always listen to your body and trust your gut.

Beyond the rise of the numbers on the scale, during my fights against cancer and years later, I noticed an overall decline in my health and wellness. Chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery recovery is taxing on one’s body, but even after they were completed, I felt lethargic. For months I assumed it was my body trying to heal from the amount of treatment I had received. I figured that the reason my body was not bouncing back as expected was due to the fact that I was experiencing menopause as a young adult. I had just fought cancer four times in three years and received a slew of treatments and several surgeries, so of course my body was tired! While I believe that is true, I also know that my body was craving good nutrition. The tank of this engine was dangerously low and it needed to be refueled.

I grew up with a southern cookin’ mama. Casseroles, fixins’, crockpot dishes, pasta, rolls, cheese, and butter. All the food that metaphorically wraps you in a nice, warm blanket and whispers in a southern drawl, “Sweet darlin’, you’ll be alright.” It wasn’t until my early twenties when I realized that though my heart loved that food, my body did not. I have been lactose intolerant since birth. My mom had to quickly eliminate all dairy from her diet because of my colic. I have vivid memories of eating ice cream as a toddler and breaking out in violent hives. I quickly learned to steer clear of milk, but continued to eat cheese, yogurt, and other processed dairy foods.

I have never been someone who loves meat. If you are like my husband, a self-proclaimed meataholic, your jaw probably dropped at that statement. Though I grew up with barbecue meat, grilled meat, and deli meat, it never appealed to me. In fact, I’ve always loathed steak. So, at 20 years old, I decided to radically change my diet. I not only stopped consuming meat, but also rejected all animal products, becoming completely vegan. Yet one year in, at dinner with my boyfriend (now husband), I caved. I just needed that sour cream! Processed dairy continued to pull at my heart strings, but I stayed committed to being a vegetarian (no meat, but some animal products).

After cancer, no amount of exercise was helping. I’d wake up early every morning to get a hard workout in, but the tired, bloated, and heavy feelings remained. I have always enjoyed juicing, so I would go on strict juice fasts to see how my body would react. I would lose up to ten pounds in one week and feel great, but as soon as I went back to consuming my normal diet, my body would revolt. I grew weary in my search for health, and started to feel like this was the body and the energy level I needed to accept for myself.

Somewhere on my social media news feeds, I saw something that caught my eye. The Whole30. Several of my friends were posting how amazing their experiences were, so I quickly researched to find out more. I loved everything that I read, and especially loved that the goal behind the program was not to lose weight, but rather to “push the reset button with your health, habits, and relationship with food, and the downstream physical and psychological effects of the food choices you’ve been making.” Without going into a comprehensive description, because there are several resources that give in-depth explanations, the Whole30 is a 30-day elimination of “the most common craving-inducing, blood sugar disrupting, gut-damaging, inflammatory food groups.” No added sugar, no dairy, no gluten, no grains, no alcohol, no legumes, no processed foods. At this point you may be wondering what one can actually eat while on the Whole30. The answer? REAL FOOD.

I decided to try it, and even suckered my husband into joining me. After the thirty days, we both felt incredible. Our views of food radically transformed, our energy increased, our physical appearances changed, and we agreed that we felt the best we had in years. Though meat can be consumed on the Whole30, I chose to continue on with my decade-long decision to remain meatless. My body and mind felt so rejuvenated after the thirty days, that I decided to go forward with a vegan, primarily Whole30 lifestyle. Because the changes I experienced have been so dramatic, I cannot imagine ever returning to the gluten-filled, dairy-full, sugar-loaded way I ate before.

Am I so rigid in my nutrition that I don’t allow myself certain non-compliant foods every now and then? No! My husband makes an incredible vegan black bean (legume) quinoa (grain) dish, and you better believe that I practically lick my plate dry. What I’ve learned by eliminating inflammatory foods is that my body functions best with real, natural, unprocessed foods. I no longer crave nor want items rich in gluten, dairy, or sugar. I eat a diet abundant of fresh vegetables, fruits, and nuts. And you know what? Never have I ever felt deprived. I am full, satisfied, in shape, and energized. And as a bonus, I’ve lost nearly all of the thirty pounds I gained during treatment.

Many of you have asked for my favorite recipe recommendations. To start, I highly recommend beginning the Whole30 and reading the resources of the program. There are several books, cookbooks, and websites dedicated to this lifestyle. Heck, go on Pinterest and search, “Whole30 recipes” and you’re sure to find no less than 900 options! For me, there aren’t many vegetables or fruits that I won’t eat, so my options are endless. Eliminating all gluten, dairy, sugar, and processed foods can be intimidating, but if you are committed, your life will be changed. And by the way, this is not a sponsored post. I simply believe that we are meant to eat clean, real food and I have found a program that believes the same.

I challenge you to start listening to the way your body and mind responds to what you are feeding it. If you are tired after consuming certain foods, your body is trying to tell you something. Listen to it.

05
Jun
2017

Suffering Has Refined Us, Not Defined Us

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Seven years.

Today marks seven years of marriage for my husband and I, and I find myself reflecting over the gravity of our journey in learning what love and commitment really are and what vows really mean. For those of us who are married, many could say that we never fully comprehended the reality of the vows we shared with our spouse on the day we wed. Excitement and naivety clouded the promises we spoke to one another. Many are simply looking forward to the party to follow or the evening ahead. For Matt and I, we were just so happy to finally live in the same house. No more driving hundreds of miles to visit one another in our long distance relationship. We could fall asleep and wake up to each other forever. It was us against the world.

Marriage then is not what marriage is now.

In sharing our story with married friends recently, Matt and I have realized just how grateful we are to have endured suffering early on in our relationship. At first it seemed unfair, cruel, and isolating. We were the only young couple we knew walking through such a treacherous journey. Most of our mentors hadn’t even experienced the depth of tragedy and trauma in their own decades-long marriages. We were treading through waters that hadn’t yet been discovered.

Matt and I had only been married for a little over one year when his mother suddenly and unexpectedly passed away at the age of 54. We were 24 and 25 years old, left to navigate such a burdensome loss. Alongside his sister, we were responsible for making the tough decisions following their mother’s passing. The hours and days we spent in the funeral home speaking with the coroner and funeral director will forever be etched into my memory. We made the decisions on cremation, burial, funeral plans, and were even in charge of cleaning out her home. Everything was up to us.

It’s something many don’t face until much later in life, yet there we were, newlyweds in our twenties. Closing my eyes, I can picture myself sitting in the front row of the auditorium during her memorial service, watching my gentle husband deliver the eulogy with words full of encouragement, love, and faith, just days after his mother died. He was a pillar of strength when our world was crumbling.

Only five months after my mother-in-law passed away, Matt and I sat in a cold and sterile examination room receiving the news that I had cancer. Still in a fog from our recent loss, we were facing yet another season of suffering. Initially, I had been diagnosed with stage 1 cervical cancer, but soon discovered that I was actually stage 3, high-grade, metastatic large-cell neuroendocrine cancer with a less than 20% chance of surviving the first year. Our marriage was on the line. My life was on the line. We had a decision to make. We thought back to a quiet moment in the funeral home months earlier when the coroner looked at both of us and boldly said, “I have seen tragedy like this break marriages. But it doesn’t have to. You either choose to let it separate you, or you choose to let it unite you.” Upon hearing my diagnosis, we made our decision.

Life sped by quickly as we met with several doctors and began forging a treatment plan. With my husband by my side, I was diagnosed by my gynecologist on a Wednesday, met with my oncologist that Thursday, and was sitting in the office of our fertility doctor that Friday. Because of the aggressiveness of my diagnosis, we had to make life-changing decisions quite rapidly. We were given one hour to decide whether we would pursue harvesting my eggs to preserve my fertility, or move forward with the necessary radical hysterectomy. We were in our home, drenched in tears, full of fear, sorrow and grief clinging to each other, and we began to pray. We asked for clarity, direction, and peace. Soon our tears dried and our prayer stopped, and Matt, with strength and tenderness said, “I didn’t marry you for the children you could give me. I married you for who you are. And I need you here. Our future kids, no matter if biological or adopted, need a healthy mom.” The following week, I underwent a radical hysterectomy. 25 and 26 years old.

In the last seven years, we have faced suffering we could have never prepared for. Death, grief, infertility, pain, trauma, cancer. Though Matt’s mother died, we were both stripped of a mother. Though I was diagnosed, we were both diagnosed with the disease. That’s what marriage is. Not only sharing the “us against the world” moments when together you feel undefeatable, but also when your world and everything in it crumbles away and you feel weak, vulnerable, and afraid. 

Too often, marriages fail because of seasons of suffering. And while I can’t speak into individual circumstances and won’t chide those whose marriages haven’t lasted, I will say that marriage takes more than just love to succeed. We often get asked how our marriage survived all that it has. Seven years ago we thought commitment meant fidelity and loyalty, yet now we understand commitment as a decision to choose each other above all else no matter what. For Matt and I, there can’t be anything that comes between us. And not that plenty hasn’t tried, believe me. Years of chemotherapy and radiation treatments, multiple surgeries and hospital stays, sudden infertility, early onset menopause, and the death of a mother all attempted to separate us. It’s only by the grace of God and our willingness to unite through it all that our marriage is beautiful and flourishing.

Our marriage then is not what is now. Marriage isn’t simply being together forever. Marriage is commitment through circumstance. It is love above fear. It is unity over division. After the majority of seven years full of suffering, our gratitude for one another is overflowing and much deeper than it has ever been. We have faced tragedy and chose to overcome together. We continue to choose each other above all else, letting nothing stand between us. We have a common goal, with eyes always focused on God. We’ve gained greater perspective through our suffering and are much better individuals and a much better couple for it. Suffering has refined us, not defined us.

Today, rather than letting these last seven years separate us, we celebrate our continued decision to let it unite us. Happy anniversary, my love. May we have seventy more, not without suffering, but with commitment, faith, perseverance, and unity.

Mark 10:9 (ESV)

“What therefore God has joined together, let nothing separate.”

06
Apr
2017

The Power of Adventure

These past few weeks have been full to the brim with fun and new experiences. We were blessed by a friend who gave us two badges to SXSW here in Austin and several of our days were spent downtown shuffling to and from events among tens of thousands of locals and visitors. SX is a large, eight-day festival that quite literally takes over the city. It incorporates interactive technology, music, and film and brings in tens of thousands of attendees each year. While we had heard of this festival, we could have never prepared for its grandiosity until moving to Austin. Not only does SX converge the smartest minds from across the globe, it’s also a weeklong party. Needless to say, we had a blast. We networked, we learned, and we loved every minute of it.

During the interactive portion, we had the opportunity to listen to several great speakers. Casey Neistat, Gary Vaynerchuck, Michael Nieling, Tim Ferriss, Cheryl Strayed… the list goes on and on. We met people from Denmark and Germany, ate free tacos, and learned the correct pronunciation of our last name (courtesy of our new Danish friends). We left the conference inspired and tired and we’ll certainly be looking over our pages of notes for weeks to come.

SXSW ended on a high note. During his keynote that Friday afternoon, Garth Brooks announced that he would be offering a free concert for Austin residents only. Though tickets sold out within one minute of going live, we were two of the 50,000 other Austinites to get lucky. So that Saturday evening, in 80-degree weather under a gorgeous, star-filled sky, we rocked out to Garth Brooks. It was a moment that will be remembered for years to come. The glow of the city, the reflection on the lake, being surrounded with vibrant energy and smiles, and the sweet hum of country music… it was perfect.

Having cancer has taught me to live, experience, and soak it all in. No matter if it’s a concert under the stars in the city you love most, or a two-hour drive to find a remote winery with breathtaking scenery, or a kayaking adventure on a beautiful summer day, or enjoying tacos and margaritas with friends, or hiking to the top of a mountain simply for the view… life is meant to be experienced!

It’s easy to get stuck in life after cancer or any other trauma for that matter. It’s easy to curl into a ball and rest because the battle fought was exhausting and you’re beyond tired. It’s easy to stay home in your comfort zone. It’s easy to stick to your usual routine, not stepping too far out of the boundaries you created in order to feel secure. It’s easy to use the excuse of, “I’m too busy” or, “I don’t have time.” It’s easy to settle into monotony. But I’m learning that easy isn’t best. Easy is comfortable, and comfort is oh so good. But adventure and experience and really living life instead of letting life live you is what it’s all about.

With the start of the new year, my husband and I decided to take one small step to actively LIVE our life. We have deemed each and every Saturday our “Adventure Day.” To us, this means that no matter how big or small, detailed or straight forward, an hour or all day, we do something NEW. And I must say, it’s been the most rewarding decision we’ve ever made. It not only strengthens us as a couple, but pushes each of us out of our comfort zones and helps us grow.

Adventure Day not only represents spontaneity, but it also symbolizes a life well-lived. How many of us, at the end of our time here on Earth will think, “Did I live enough?” Right now, ask yourself that question. If you had eyes to the future and knew your last breath was around the bend, would you be satisfied with how you chose to live? It’s okay, you’re not alone in your answer. I’m still not satisfied and feel I have an incredible amount to do before entering the gates of eternity. Why are we often required to face our own mortality in order to really learn how to soak it all up? Cancer stole so much from me, but it gifted me eternal vision and has radically changed my perspective on the purpose of this life.

Adventuring removes barriers, manifests breakthrough, unites, births joy, and uplifts the dark corners of our souls. It ignites in us a passion for this life that we often forget is meant to be experienced actively, not sedentarily. It pushes us off the cliff of comfort and gives us wings to fly in vibrant ways. It freshens stagnancy, quenches deserts, and elevates us to living the way we are called to live. Adventuring gives us new perspective and creates vision. Though comfort is easy and adventure is often hard, the rewards for the latter are much greater than comfort zones can ever provide. Adventure is powerful.

Ask yourself again, “What am I doing to LIVE?” I challenge you to step out of your comfort zone and experience something new, letting adventure take hold in your life.

Ecclesiastes 3:12-13 (ESV)

“I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God’s gift to man.”

25
Jan
2017

Life Awakened: Five Years Later

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Life after cancer is more confusing than anyone told me it would be. Honestly, they didn’t tell me much of what to anticipate when the disease was gone and the dust settled. Possibly because most didn’t even expect me to survive the first year, let alone the second, third, fourth, and least likely the fifth.

From the moment I was diagnosed and through the subsequent years during treatment, the focus for all of us was to simply get through it. To survive. To make it out somewhat intact. Yet, there was never any conversation beyond survival. Merely congratulatory well wishes upon my last treatment and the classic line, “We hope to never see you in here again!”, as if I were a prisoner released from a lengthy stint behind bars.

No one told me what life would be like back in the “real world.” No one told me that I’d experience post-traumatic stress disorder triggered by sights, smells, experiences, relationships, and even food. I wasn’t aware that I’d feel like I didn’t belong in this seemingly regular, normal, everyday life. I never imagined being more comfortable in a hospital than in a grocery store. I didn’t think I’d be shy about regaining my independence. I had no clue what life was supposed to look like or what I was even supposed to do when I arrived at my destination, when I reached my goal, and when I survived the statistics that labeled me. I didn’t know what to expect because I wasn’t expecting this… Life.

We had conversations about notarizing wills, what items would go to who, if my husband would remarry, and that eventually, grief would settle and everyone left behind would learn to cope with my death. We clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this period in time would fade away into the history of my life’s story. That, as a grandmother decades from now, I’d share tales of a battle won with my grandchildren. I never thought I would die from cancer, but as oxymoronic as it may sound, I wasn’t sure if I would live through it either.

I wasn’t prepared for the difficulties that a life almost lost has brought me. It’s been a recurrent struggle, a back and forth tug of war between then and now. Cancer isn’t just a moment in time. It’s not just something that happens and eventually goes away. It doesn’t sit on a timeline nor does it have a beginning or an end. From the moment it physically rooted itself into my anatomy, it also marked my very DNA and soul. Though free of disease, I will forever be marked by it. Though I walk without cancer, I will forever carry it with me. It has changed who I am, and the biggest conflict I now face is rediscovering who that really is.

Today marks five years since I heard those life-altering, fateful words, “I’m sorry, you have cancer.” And Friday marks two years free of this disease. I always thought that time healed all wounds, and though I still believe there is some truth in that, I think that healing requires more than days gone by. If only I could go back to that very moment when life as I knew it was forever changed. If only I could look that Stephanie in the eyes and say, “There is no right way to heal. There is no correct way to grieve. There is no road map nor compass. You will learn as you go, and you must trust that God has given you the grace for each obstacle you will face. Cry when grief falls upon you. Dance when joy is overwhelming. Laugh from the very pit of your soul. And love like your heart knows no bounds. There is no destination to be reached but rather a life to be well-lived. Keep looking forward and never let what happens today steal your joy for tomorrow.”

This new year has been full of incredible abundance and freedom. It’s the beginning of regaining my life. For the first time since diagnosis, I finally feel free. Free to feel. Free to release. Free to let my guard down. Free to really live this life that I’ve been gifted. I feel like I’ve finally awoken to the life that I so longed for after cancer. I think it’s due in part to the fact that I’ve ultimately given myself permission to.

As a cancer survivor, there’s a balance between recognizing and honoring the journey itself and also accepting survival with open arms. Though survival is the one thing I vehemently fought for all of these years, it’s also the one thing I must face head on. I’m alive, now what? It’s easier to live with a victim mindset always focused on what once was and what should have been; It’s more difficult to move forward with victory on my side, accepting that though cancer has forever changed me, it will not define me.

I expected that on this day, my five year anniversary, I would be in jubilant celebration, reflecting in awe of the miraculous road I’ve walked. Without a care, concern, or any hint of grief or sadness. After all, it’s been five years. FIVE. My doctors said I probably wouldn’t even make it to ONE, so this moment in time truly is a milestone. But here I am, and though I absolutely feel elated to be free of the shackles that bound me for years, I’m still coping with the grief that lingers after trauma. And you know what? I’m okay with that.

Though no one told me what life after would feel like, I’m learning that there is no “right” way. I’m learning to embrace what was was, what is, and what will be.

Isaiah 43:18-20 (ESV)

“Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?”

15
Dec
2016

The Comparison of Callings

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I’ve spent a decent portion of my life looking up to people. I think we all have. In school, we were asked who our heroes were. We were assigned projects that detailed the lives and accomplishments of our idols. We spent hours studying the success of others. From an early age, we’ve been trained to view others’ achievements in order to learn how to achieve our own. This has benefited us, teaching us determination and perseverance. It has honed our skills and given us the courage, confidence, and motivation to achieve our dreams. Emulation has resulted in garnering us the essential tools we’ve needed in order to reach the peaks of our own success. We all know the popular phrase, “If I can do it, so can you!”

Unfortunately, the idolization of others has also created an unforeseen and unspoken backfire. When we spend our lives looking up to the achievements, skills, and accolades of others, we fall prey to the natural tendency of comparison. The aforementioned phrase mutates into, “If they can do it, I should be able to as well!” That’s simply not the truth. No amount of emulation, idolization, or even practice can equip us with the tools necessary for what someone else is called to do. We may be able to similarly accomplish what our heroes have, but our successes will never match. The outcome will never be the same because the journey isn’t either. We will always sink into the quicksand of inability and incompetency when we compare, because we forget the difference between skill and calling. Skill reflects who we are, while calling reflects who God is.

Skill can be learned, practiced, improved, and even perfected. Sure, some people are more naturally capable of skill in specific areas, but overall, skill is something that can be obtained with practice. Writing comes naturally to me, but if you practice enough, you could become a decent writer yourself. And likewise, though I am not naturally inclined towards science and math, with enough learning and studying, I could probably achieve a decent score on an exam.

Calling, however, is much different. Calling is a God-given destiny placed over our lives. Calling happens when the composition of our soul — our talents and aptitudes, our failures and shortfalls — is used and interwoven into a greater commission commanded by God. When the supernatural and natural combine, that is calling. Calling isn’t always a desire or a dream. In fact, we are often called in the midst of our greatest chaos, when our reliance on Jesus is at an all time high. No two callings are the same, because no two persons are. We were each created with such intricate distinction that comparison is not only unnecessary, but entirely irrelevant.

How often have you felt incapable or unworthy? Maybe you’ve been aiming for a goal that you can’t quite seem to reach. Have you been wishing your path was like that of someone else’s? That their fame, fortune, and success was your own? Have you, like me, compared your calling to another’s? You’re not alone. I’ve found myself falling prey to the slithering sleuth of comparison, too. I know without a shadow of a doubt that God has called me to walk through the valleys of the shadow of death (figuratively and literally) in order to walk beside those who face similar sufferings. God has given me a voice to speak into the darkness and to call out those trapped in fear, doubt, and shame. Yet even though I know my calling, I compare what God has given me to what He has given others. Because there’s still a part of me that feels entirely unworthy and incapable of the call He has for me.

Confusion, comparison, and doubt are exactly what the enemy wants. He seeks to steal, kill, and destroy us, our dreams, and our callings. If he can cause us enough doubt to lead us into comparison and create in us a fear of unworthiness and inability, he wins. Satan tells us that we are all the same, capable of attaining the skill of others while camouflaging his intentions as good. There’s a fine line between looking up to others in order to gain inspiration and motivation, and idolizing others in a way that causes us to compare our own calling to theirs.

Comparison also leads to competition. We become tricked into thinking that our lives are a race to the top, and whoever gets there the quickest wins. We look to the left and to the right of us to calculate how much more effort we need in order to get ahead of others. We look ahead and think if only we can try a little harder and push through a little more, we can reach our dreams first and best. But it’s a lie. We disservice ourselves by comparing and competing. And if only we can imagine what God thinks of this… I’m sure He’s saddened at our simple minds and deceived hearts. I’m sure He’s saying, “Oh, if only you could take your eyes off of them so that you could finally see ME! I have so much in store for you, I have called you for something greater than this!”

Until we stop looking at the achievements of others and begin to focus on who God has created us to be individually, we will continue to compare and lose sight of our calling. Because we are human and lack eternal and supernatural vision, we believe that God determines the greatness of our calling based on our own measure of self worth. The funny thing is, God doesn’t call us to things we excel in. He takes our weakness and makes it a strength, our brokenness into wholeness, and our fear into courage. He calls us to rise above our flesh and step into the armor that we are given as children of the One Most High. We are called not for ourselves, but for the glory of Jesus to be shown throughout the world.

Many of you aren’t sure what it is that God is calling you to do. I wish I could give you an instruction pamphlet on how to find out, but the truth is simpler than written instruction. When we press into Jesus with our soul, mind, and heart, letting no fear of failure, no thought of comparison, and only eyes on Him, He will reveal it to you. Your calling is distinct. It will not look like mine. It won’t look like those you idolize. It won’t look, feel, or seem like anyone else’s because it’s been created specifically, intricately, and purposefully for you alone.

Maybe you’ve been burdened and stirred in your spirit but aren’t sure what that means. Pray, press in, and seek. When we ask, we know that God answers. He wants us to know our calling because it is with an excited anticipation that He awaits our obedience to what He has destined for us.

Today, if you are comparing what God wants you to do, the gifts He has specifically given to you, or the direction of your life to those who surround you, I encourage you to remember the distinguishability between calling and skill. If you are comparing success, you have lost sight of what calling truly is. Calling cannot be compared to success because it has no measurement, it simply is. Calling is a gift given by God, a destiny placed over your life. Your calling cannot compete because it stands alone. Remember, skill reflects who we are, calling reflects who God is.

When we stop focusing on comparisons, we find that God’s calling is greater than anything we could have imagined for our lives. Believe in and pursue the individual distinction that God has called you to.

1 Peter 2:9-10 (MSG)

“But you are the ones chosen by God, chosen for the high calling of priestly work, chosen to be a holy people, God’s instruments to do his work and speak out for him, to tell others of the night-and-day difference he made for you—from nothing to something, from rejected to accepted.”

29
Sep
2016

The Struggle is Real (Really)

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Sometimes hope is hard to find. Smiles aren’t always easy to come by. Happiness is fleeting. Sometimes even the best intentions are squashed. Days envelop in worry, fear, and regret. Nights end in tears. Thoughts can trick you, emotions can be your worst enemy. Optimism can be an elusive ghost. Sometimes dark clouds roll in, bringing thunderous roars and floods that rain on your parade. Choosing joy can be an exhausting and tumultuous battle. Sometimes the “whys” and “what ifs” outweigh understanding. Sometimes purpose eludes us.

A few weeks ago, I found myself crumpled on the floor heaving burdened sobs into the quietness of our closet. This particular Saturday started as many weekends often do, full of possibilities, adventure… and laundry. The sun was out (per usual for a Texas summer) and the birds might as well have been chirping if they weren’t so dang hot. My husband and I had regained the glorious sleep that our work weeks stole from us and we faced no agenda, no errands, and no stress. I knew it was going to be a great day. I just knew it.

Yet somehow, no matter my intentions of enjoying this beautiful Saturday, something overcame me. My tone became rude, my words short, and I could feel a temper flaring up. Like a dragon from within, I snapped at Matt. Snipping and snapping at… nothing. My meaningless and unjustifiable frustrations bellowed. I can only imagine what he thought as I continued on my whining streak. Soon, I even began wondering what the big fuss was about. Why was I upset? What’s going on? Not long thereafter, as it always does, the real reason burst forth.

“CANCER HURT ME! IT TORE MY LIFE APART. I HATE WHAT IT HAS DONE TO ME. TO MY BODY. TO MY THOUGHTS. TO MY FUTURE. TO OUR LIFE.”

Each word sharp, searing truth. I meant them, and I still do. I hate what has happened because of cancer. This isn’t the life that I wanted. This isn’t my fairytale. I’d be lying to say that joy and hope and faith and happiness is boundless and everlasting.

You often don’t see my journey to hope and joy. You read only the wisdom that I glean from the trenches of my grief. You hear the thoughts after they’ve been processed, the pain after it’s started to heal, and the loss that has already found hope. I must let you in on a little secret, though. Sometimes finding hope is downright miserable, and sometimes impossible. My life isn’t as triumphant and victorious as some may think. I struggle. Often, quietly, I wrestle with the realities of what I now face on the other side of cancer. Not yet 30 and menopausal. A body that no longer feels like my own. Barren, infertile, and childless. Broken and scarred. Deeply wounded and downright sad.

I hate pity parties, but sometimes we just need to be the “hostest with the mostest.” I try my hardest to trudge through, to find hope and hold onto it. I try to reach for gratitude for I know it has the ability to overcome anguish, but sometimes I fail. And it’s not fair for me to only show you the finish line. Understanding what it takes to get there is where community, empathy, and growth happens. I can’t let you think that where you’re at is uncommon. If you’re depressed and forlorn, you’re not alone.

The truth is, I miss my life before cancer. The wounds are so fresh that I still cry at the thought of what once was. A blissful, yet naive marriage. Grandiose dreams that really felt attainable. The world, our life — a fresh palette of the most vibrant colors ready to be whimsically painted onto a clean canvas.

I wish cancer didn’t pick me, though I’m grateful for the gifts that came with it. I wish God didn’t choose me, yet I know my calling was found in this chaos. I was supposed to live with the security and assumption that my life would be long. We were supposed to live out our dreams. After marriage, I was supposed to get pregnant. We were supposed to land those dream jobs and have the ability to buy our dream home. Our savings account would grow to thousands, not diminish to pennies. I’m mad that it didn’t go that way. I’m hurt, and angry, and disappointed.

I don’t want cancer. I never wanted cancer. I wish it was different, somehow. To be honest, there are moments when I wonder if any of this was worth fighting so hard for. The scars, the infertility, the remnants of emotional and physical pain, the grief. But would I really change it? No. I’d fight for it all again, because life is worth living, no matter how painful it may be. It’s only with eyes towards Heaven that I can grasp a minuscule understanding of my life here on earth.

You see, God often deposits resounding truths in my trenches. He allows me to feel the depths of despair with tear-stained cheeks and profound sorrow in order to see with greater understanding and empathy. Into the dark places, I feel the weight of it all. The gut-wrenching pain of tremendous loss. The burden of shattered dreams. It’s in the trenches where I find hope. Hope is not found when life is beautiful and grand, but when there is nothing left to hold onto. We must sit in the dark, quiet, muck of the trenches in order to discover the light.

Psalm 34:18 (ESV)

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted
and saves the crushed in spirit.

06
Jul
2016

Cancer In The Rearview

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We said goodbye and drove away. The anticipation and excitement was palpable as we voyaged on. We looked at each other in amazement that we were actually doing this. Are we really moving to Austin? Is this a dream? The adventure had just begun and, though we had no idea what our future would look like, we felt peace. We knew that doors had closed and others were opened wide. We had been called to step forward and go beyond comfort. We barely even looked in the rearview mirror as we headed south. I thought I’d cry. I thought I’d be sad. But I wasn’t. Instead, my heart was cheerful and expectant. The leap of faith was more than we could have ever imagined it being, and we’ve only now landed on the ground below. This chapter is just getting started.

Not only has our move brought a refreshing newness, but it’s also ushered in a spirit of reflection. We’ve been spurred on and inspired. From reflection has come revelation, and what a beautiful thing that has been for us. Beautiful yet painful. Painful but necessary. We’ve spoken more openly about our last four years than ever before. Our perspectives have shifted and we are allowing ourselves to feel the weight of what our previous season looked and felt like. For me, it’s an odd space to sit in. I never realized how much I’ve tucked deep into the dark corners of my mind, with the subconscious intent of forgetting. But how could I forget? Cancer has left an indelible print on my very core. My blueprint was altered at diagnosis, and it will never be the same. But as time moves forward, I’m learning that that’s okay.

Austin has been incredible. Each day here has tangibly revealed God’s faithfulness. We’ve been planted in a life-giving, spirit-breathing, community-reaching church. New friends have quite literally shown up on our doorstep. Each act of kindness, no matter how large or small, is 150% attributed to the compassion of God. He has given us gifts from above, shining down attributes of Himself with each one. We know we are exactly where we are meant to be and that’s more than we could’ve asked for. You’ve probably noticed that I’ve taken a small break from writing, and I thank you for giving me the time to soak into our new adventure.

Still, I find myself looking in the metaphorical rearview often. Every day, in fact. Not looking back with longing, simply looking back to see it from a distance. To view the battle with new eyes. I’m searching each moment, reflecting on what once was. Everything I went through. Everything Matt went through. Looking back gives me gratitude for the present. Gratitude that pushing through the storm was well worth it. Gratitude for the perspective change. Gratitude for grace, healing, and restoration. I also realize that I look back to assure myself that it wasn’t a recurrent nightmare, but that it actually did happen in real life. You see, stepping outside of the shadow of cancer has an interesting effect on those who survive.

Every single day. Sometimes, more than once a day. Seemingly often enough that it went beyond notice, cemented in my subconscious. I drove by my very own cancer landmarks. The locations in Colorado that have been seared into my memory. In my mind, there are plaques firmly planted in the ground at each area of significance. The office building where I was diagnosed on January 25, 2012. Its plaque reads, “You have cancer.” The doctor’s office where I learned the reality of my diagnosis on February 14th of that same year. Its plaque says, “You have less than a 20% chance of surviving this first year.” The route in which we drove over and over and over, back and forth to appointments. It states, “Ready for that needle?” The hospital full of the medical staff and technology that saved my life. Its says, “Thank you.” The emergency room in which I garnered frequent flyer miles. It reads, “You have to be admitted.” The post office who mailed off thousands of dollars of medical bills on our behalf. It demands, “Give me your money.” The grocery store where I was first asked why I was bald. It says, “Why did you shave your head?” I couldn’t go a day without being reminded of the disease. It lurked in corners, hid itself in memories, and peeked around buildings when I’d pass by. Cancer haunted me every day and I didn’t realize that until we left.

I’m in a new city. A new neighborhood. A new climate. A new time zone. Everything and everyone who surrounds me is new. The only familiarity I know rests in my husband and what we brought on our adventure. Everything else is new and unknown. I can’t tell you directions on how to get to the grocery store. I couldn’t point to where the bank is. I surely couldn’t even decipher which way is north from where I’m sitting in this exact moment. Though unfamiliarity can bring discomfort, it’s exactly what I’ve needed. I needed something to be in our rearview. I needed something to look back on so that I could move forward.

God knew. He knew, thank goodness, He knew. My rearview is clear and I feel freedom that I haven’t felt in years. It’s not blissful freedom, more somber than that. It’s a freedom that acknowledges the broken road behind while allowing me to press on towards the future. Seeing cancer in the rearview has enabled and encouraged me to truly live life with frontward vision. It’s an oddly wonderful place to be. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Being on this side of cancer is something I’ve prayed for for years. It’s good to arrive with my diagnosis finally in the rearview.

John 5:8 (ESV)

“Jesus said, ‘Get up and walk.'”