Revealing Grace

I was talking to my dad last weekend about moving forward. Naturally, as we discussed my upcoming marriage to Jeff, the pull of the past made itself known. Sensing this, my dad told me about the best piece of advice he received after his mother passed away. "You have to turn the page," he told me. "You have to turn the page and start a new chapter."  It seemed so simple, but in that moment I realized that I haven't turned the page on my chapter in Arizona. I have, instead, been trying to write in the margins.  I have been trying to shove this new story into the cracks between the words and the space between the feelings of those past years. I haven't given Jeff a fresh page. I have given him the margins. I have written extensively about sadness, loss, divorce, and cancer in the past few years. I have clung to the hard parts of my story and honestly found it difficult to write with unabashed joy about my new life with Jeff. How can my words reflect

Hi. I am getting married. Again. No one talks about the "again" part so of course I will. I like to address the elephant in the room even though the elephant is imaginary and I am the only one who sees it. So, what's it like to get married again? Well, at first I thought everyone would roll their eyes and be like, "ok, sure, whatever. We all know you've done this before." This was totally in my head and not reality, but that's what I thought. In reality, we have been inundated with the most amazing support, kindness, and joy. It has been truly heartwarming. I also sometimes freak out about normal things because my body has been trained that everything that is happening to prepare for the wedding means danger. My body is like, "woah, we have been here before and it turned out baaaaaaad! Alert! Alert! Alert!" Then I cry, or have anxiety, or just stop being able to function and make decisions. Post-traumatic stress is a bastard. It is

How are you?  It was a question I dreaded after my husband left. People meant well. They didn't realize that as their words drifted to my ears, unformed thoughts and emotions would begin to build up in my throat and overflow through the tears in my eyes. It was a question that kept me tucked inside the house so that I didn't have to face it. Who knew that those three words could pack such a devastating punch. How are you? It's never simple, is it? A friend recently asked me this question at a wedding and I heard myself replying, "I'm fine. I'm fine. Yea, no, I'm. . . I'm totally fine." If you have to say it three times I am not sure you are convincing anyone. I took a deep breath. "Actually, I am probably not fine, but I am a lot better than the last time we talked." "Yea, I remember exactly where I was sitting when you called that day." We both stood quietly for a second as the memory of one of the worst days of my

My heart is elsewhere.  It is sitting among the sentinels of corn and among the whispers of the wheat. It is tucked next to a fire in a little house by the plains of the desert. It is on the sacred mountain of a reservation in Arizona. It is scattered among the people I love throughout the country and the world. My body is here, but my heart is elsewhere.  My mind is full.  Full of the mistakes I've made and the problems still left to solve. Full of ghosts and home videos. Stacked the brim with to-do lists and airy dreams for days ahead. My mind needs to focus, but it is already full.  My body is strong.  My heart beats with determination. My brain connects and controls. My arms lift and my legs power through. I may feel like this body belongs to someone else, but this body is strong.  My soul feels stretched.  Stretched between places and people that I love things I want to do and things I need to do guilt and responsibility self-care and

My couch is sitting in the middle of my living room and not in a cute way. It is shoved into the tiny walkway in my 600 square foot apartment because I bought a TRX so that I could work out at home but there isn't any room to use it unless I move the couch. But the couch has nowhere to go. So I'm currently turning sideways and shuffling to get to my kitchen. My dog literally just jumps across the top of furniture because there is no floor space. Speaking of dogs, I just found mine eating the bathroom trash. Seriously. Gross. In other news, I've been sleeping on the other sofa's twin pull-out bed for two weeks. Do I not have a real bed? No, I have a real king-sized bed in the other room, the room I am not using apparently. For a month I was waking up with back pain (the bed is less than three years old), so I moved beds. Now I sleep in the living room. Speaking of sleep, I couldn't tell you the last time I slept a whole night through. In fact, I can remem

Hello sweet friends. Its been a while, hasn't it? I guess life has just been complicated enough that I'm not quite sure how to write about it. It has certainly been getting back to normal, if there is such a thing, although I always feel like I am walking a tightrope of health. Not enough water? Exhaustion. Not the right food? Exhaustion. Not enough sleep? You guessed it, I spend an entire day sleeping as my body tries to recover. It is partly that I push myself so hard, but I don't really know how not to. I push through waves of anxiety, times when I watch TV so my brain stops worrying, and alternating sessions at the chemo center with work, travel, the boyfriend, etc. Honestly, life in Dallas isn't what I expected it to be when I moved here a year ago. I've struggled to find friends and community and I struggle to find the balance between needing to rest and wishing I had more people I connect with here. I miss having a church. I miss having people that com

Last week was Jeff's birthday, so let's continue talking about how great he is. But as a disclaimer, I know a lot of people who have a great partner and I know a lot of people who feel like they may never find a great partner. I write about Jeff not to brag or make it seem like my life is perfect. I write about Jeff because I have seen the trenches. I have been in the depths. I have visited the pits of hell. And I survived. And then Jeff walked up the sidewalk. And there was goodness again. I write about Jeff because for me, Jeff signifies the fact that even when all seems lost, happiness, joy, restoration, and peace can be right around the corner. Jeff signifies hope. So here is a little bit of our story:  Before I met Jeff, I really thought that my experiences made me a bit undesirable.  After all, I had been depressed, divorced, unemployed, lived in my parents’ basement, and then I got cancer. I wasn’t really a cut and dry kind of person. I was messy and comp

When you go through a divorce, so much is public. Heck, hundreds of people watched you make vows to another person and less than two years later you have to announce that it has crashed and burned. No matter how kind and understanding people are, you are wrought with the shame of the situation. It is embarrassing to be sure, no matter what the reasons behind the divorce were. So when I started dating Jeff, I found myself keeping much of our relationship close to my chest. We all know I love him and he is incredible, but I have found myself resisting the desire to write about our love in detail. I have had such public pain and hardship. Now I seem to want to protect my joy and happiness within the walls of my own home and heart. But I will tell you this: Jeff is perhaps the best human I've ever met.  He is perfect in his imperfections. He is pure of heart and kind in spirit. He is a hard worker, a precious gift giver, a servant who has the patience of a saint. He love

This weekend, I turn THIRTY. And boy am I ready to leave my 20s! My twenties were the stuff of a good novel, full of plot twists and unexpected downfalls. They included a solo trip to India and hikes through vineyards in Germany. I visited 7 countries, received two degrees, lived in 4 states, and developed some of my best friendships. I fell in love, got my heart broken, and fell in love again. I worked as a missionary, as a content marketer in finance, and at a pizza restaurant. I poured my heart into my work, I raised a teenager for a little while, and I moved homes a lot. My twenties, though not entirely bad, were entirely different than I had imagined they would be. I went through seasons of hardship that were painful and traumatic. I endured a horrible end to my marriage, a divorce, and a cancer diagnosis. I went through multiple surgeries and chemotherapy. It is probably an understatement to say that the last five years have been incredibly difficult. Does all o

After my previous relationship I had a lot of body issues. My significant other was always harsh on my body and when he left, I got serious about fitness. It was partly for me and probably in part to prove that he should have stayed. Either way, I got in shape.  When I moved to Dallas a year ago I was therefore in the best shape of my life, something that probably saved my life in multiple ways as I entered cancer treatment. I was thin, I was strong, I was toned. I was finally happy with my body.  And then I had chemo.  And I gained 20 pounds.  People said once I was no longer on steroids it would just fall off.  It hasn't.  Granted, with my work schedule, surgeries, and recovery I haven't been able to go to the gym every day, but I have been eating healthy and being mindful of movement. Still, I seem to be stuck with these new curves.  I take pictures and my face does not look like my own. I see more signs of wear and tear. I see more exhaustion

After my fourth chemo I got on a plane and when it landed I headed straight for the beach. With my luggage on my back I walked straight onto the sand and down to the water. I bathed in the sunshine and for a few hours, everything was quiet. Nothing is quiet with cancer treatment. There are so many conversations with doctors, peers, well-wishers, family, and strangers. There are a barrage of appointments mixed with work responsibilities, taking care of a home, and in my case, a dog. Everything is busy and rushed and challenging. While in chemo, I worked hard to not let it slow me down. Now, I am still in tri-weekly infusions, recovering from a surgery, and attending appointments, and I am exhausted. I am soul tired. I long for quiet. I long for rest. So much feels not ok. I am quietly afraid that the cancer will come back and next time, I won't be able to fight it. I am afraid that my life will be cut short. I am afraid that this nagging pain in my side is actually so

It is odd to think that I will always have these scars, these reminders of the cancer that once was. Everyone rejoices with you that it is "over," but so much of it never ends. There are always more appointments, more check-ups, more ways you have to heal. Your body is the most tangible piece of it all. Your muscles have to wake up and your mind has to clear. Your new chest has to settle in and your eyes have to get used to seeing a new and foreign body in the mirror. It is odd to think that this is now me, that I will never look like I did before. Before . Life will forever now be divided by before and after. What was. What now is. Your mind is the less tangible piece of healing. The exhaustion from the last few months of treatment, the quiet that gives space to realize what has just happened. There is a funny mix of fear and relief, anxiety and peace. There is no more cancer. My goodness there was cancer. But the journey has taken its toll. I haven't foun

No one really prepared me for what it would be like once chemo ended. I guess I never really thought that far ahead. For months it has been a constant cycle of treatments and recovery. It was all I could do to propel myself into that chair again. I had to be short-sighted. It was how I survived. And then chemo ended. And the future opened up. You would think the resulting emotion would be some insane joy that the worst of treatment was over. You would imagine that I would feel free and full of life. But where I expected joy, I found anxiety. Where I expected freedom, I felt trapped by fear. For the first time I had time for the reality to sink in: I had cancer. I'm 29 years old and healthy, and I had cancer.  For the first time I realized that no matter what, I cannot go back. No matter how hard I try, my life will never be the same. For weeks, I worried that every little twinge or pain, every weird and probably normal thing, was a sign of something deadly. As I looked t