Tapestry of love

My sweet congregations do not cease to amaze me with their faithfulness and love. What a gift.

Today during announcements, one congregation presented me with a quilt. This is something of a tradition there - they make dozens of quilts for Lutheran World Relief, and for every person baptized, wrapping people at home and around the world in their prayers. This quilt for me was a complete surprise. It is blue and yellow, all different floral prints, and the card said, "May this quilt remind you that after the rain comes beautiful flowers."It's big enough to go on my hospital bed, which was their plan. I held it together for the quilt portion, but when I read the card, I cried. And when I looked up, half the congregation was dabbing at their eyes! They were so happy to do this for me, and I was thrilled to receive their love. What a blessing to be here.

At the other church, a couple folks approached me and said they had this idea: they would meet in the lobby of Strong with members of both churches, at the hour of my surgery, and pray for me. Wow! I was so touched by that! What a wonderful thing to know that all those prayers would be ascending toward the surgery unit, right at the very moment I go under. Have I mentioned what a blessing it is to pastor these congregations??

Also, just for the record, I got more hugs today than I could possibly count, including several from kids, and I even got a couple kid kisses. Yes! One of my sweet kiddos pulled me aside to tell me she was really going to miss me while I was gone, and it made her really sad. I said I hoped she would visit me, even at home, and that she would turn her worries into prayers for me. She said she would do both, and I believe her! My heart was just so full by the end of all this today. I can't say enough how overwhelmed I am with love.

Sermon: Tapestry of prayer (May 12, 2013)

Easter 7C

John 17:20-26

Brothers and sisters in Christ, let us pray:

I ask not only on behalf of these gathered here, but also on behalf of all who will come to believe through their word, that we may all be one. As you, Father, and your Son Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are all one in relationship with each other, may we also all be one in You. Amen.

         This morning, we don’t hear Jesus preach. We don’t hear him tell a parable. We don’t see him perform a miracle, or heal the sick, or stand up to authority. Today we have the distinct privilege of eavesdropping on an intimate moment in which Jesus talks to his Father. That is, we have the opportunity to hear Jesus pray.

         What is particularly remarkable about this, though, is not simply that he is praying. What is remarkable is that he is praying for us! In Jesus’ conversations with God the Father, the creator of the universe, the highest most holy – they are talking about little ol’ us. Wow. That we would be a topic of conversation among the Trinity!

         Question: How many of you have ever been prayed for? … How many of you have ever been prayed for in your presence? … How many of you have been prayed for by name in an intimate setting, maybe while someone is holding your hand? How do you feel when that happens? …Humbled? Embarrassed? Touched?

         One part of the ordination process for me was a requirement to spend a summer being a chaplain in a clinical setting, like a hospital. When I did this I was assigned to the oncology unit, and talked with people of many ages at many different points of their lives. Often, the people I talked to were not Christians, and when I asked if I could pray with them, it was sometimes the first time they had ever been prayed for, at least to their knowledge. More often than not in these cases, I would finish the prayer and look up to see the person’s eyes filled with tears. In that moment, in that prayer, something had touched them more deeply than any words that I could have said directly to them. I don’t know if it was a sense of the divine, or simply being touched that some person they didn’t even know would talk to God on their behalf. But the tears were real and they were often.

         What happens in prayer that elicits such a response? There are lots of reasons to pray, and lots of different things happen in prayer. But in this passage we hear today in which Jesus prays to the Father for his disciples, we see and hear clearly two purposes:

1)   Prayer brings us into relationship with God.

2)   Prayer brings us into relationship with one another.

         Let’s focus first on how prayer affects relationships between people. I certainly think this effect was clear in my encounters in hospital rooms that summer. But it is even more far-reaching than this. United Methodist theologian Marjorie Suchocki writes, “No matter how remote two persons may be from each other, there is a sense in which they ‘meet’ in God… When I pray for another person’s well-being, I make myself relevant to his condition. It means that as God weaves together the circumstances of that man…, my praying offers new stuff for the weaving.” In other words, when I pray for another, I invest something of myself in the condition of that person, and God uses that investment to weave us and our lives together. I become spiritually entwined with that person. I enter into a relationship with that person, even if we never have and never will speak. When Jesus prays that we might all be one, he is praying that we will all be entwined with one other – and this happens when we pray for one another.

         It’s usually pretty easy to pray for our friends and loved ones, or even for their friends and loved ones – all these people listed in the bulletin and then some! It’s not too hard to do this – really just a matter of remembering and finding time to do it. But what about our enemies? We talked a couple weeks ago about loving people who are difficult to love, and here is one way we can do that: to pray for them regularly. And I don’t mean, “Dear God, please make that person at work stop being such a jerk.” I don’t even mean, “Dear God, please give me the patience to deal with this person.” I mean, “Dear God, bless this person and all their endeavors. May they know the bounty of your love, and know how to share that love with others. Amen.” If you prayed this prayer, even for your enemies, every day, how do you think your relationship with that person might change? It’s hard to hate someone for whom you are praying regularly.

         We have a list of people we pray for regularly during worship. This includes all these folks in our bulletin, but also some others: our president, all leaders of all nations, our bishop, all pastors and bishops… and others on occasion. These are probably not all people that all of us love, or even like. And yet, is it important to pray for them? Yes. It’s hard to hate someone for whom you pray regularly. When you pray for someone, you are brought into a relationship with them, become a part of the weaving of their life, even as they become a part of the weaving of yours. When you pray for someone, you cannot help but start to love them. And you live out your identity as brothers and sisters in Christ.

         The other important piece that happens when we pray is that it brings us into relationship with God. Jesus prays, “As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us.” There are at least two things going on here. One is the unique relationship going on between Jesus and the Father (and, as we’ll hear next week on Pentecost, the Holy Spirit). The other is our being brought into that relationship, to be enveloped by the eternal love and joy that is the Trinity.

When I think about the relationship within the Trinity, I think of the popular book, The Shack. In case you’ve not read it, it is about a man named Mack who has suffered a great tragedy, who ends up encountering God, the Trinity, in a shack in the woods. Like any human attempt to describe God, it surely falls short on some counts, but one thing I think it does really well is demonstrate in human terms the relationship of the three persons of the Trinity – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. We see such love there, such joy. Their interactions are like a dance of love, and as the story unfolds, we see Mack brought into the experience of that loving relationship.

         That is what Jesus is doing for us when he prays for us. “As you are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us.” Jesus prays for us to be brought into the Trinity’s dance of love, to experience and share the eternal glory and love of God.

And God does provide so many ways for us to experience and share that glory and love – in ways we can see, hear, touch, smell, and taste. That is what the incarnation is all about – why God became man to dwell among us. And we continue to experience God’s glory and love in so many ways: in the life of this congregation; in the embrace of a mother; in the rallying around those in need; in the sounds a child makes as water is poured over his head and we say, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit”; in those words, “This is my body, given for you”; in the trees suddenly bursting into pink flowers practically overnight; in a community walking to raise money for hunger; in strangers helping strangers.

And we share and experience God’s glory and love when we pray. When we pray, when Jesus prays for us, when we pray for one another, we are brought into that eternal glory, into that eternal love, into the life and joy of the Trinity.

And so, sisters and brothers in Christ, let us pray: God of glory and love, you have artfully woven us into the tapestry of your life, such that we are in you, and you in us, and we are in one another. Help us to live into that oneness, and always to pray for one another, that the whole Church and all of creation would live in your love. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Emotional disease, and where is God in that

I met yesterday with my spiritual director, a wonderful woman who has become a wonderful friend. I meet with her once a month and talk about what is going on in my life and what role my faith is playing in that. At least once during the conversation, she asks some variation of the question, "And where is God in that?" And that almost always leads to an important insight!

Of course lately, a lot of what I have talked about is cancer, and she has heard a lot about my feelings toward God through all of this - feelings which change by the day, it seems. I suppose in my better moments, I can see how God is using and will continue to use this in my life and ministry. Knowing that, of course, doesn't take away the feeling that this simply isn't fair, and there have been multiple times this week when I have reverted to the anger I felt when I first learned I would need a mastectomy, as if I haven't processed it at all and am back at square one. I have done more crying this week than I have in weeks, thinking of all the things I'm losing. I have cried to Michael a lot, as well as to some friends. As I told my spiritual director about those few moments that have stuck in my head from this 14 year journey I have been on, I found myself quite teary indeed. Her office where we meet is full of beautiful things, and as I told her about that day in September 1999 that had been so joyful, the day I triumphantly walked out of my last radiation treatment, my eyes rested on something she had on display that said, "Joy!" I thought about the beautiful weather, the blooming pink trees outside my window, the happiness that comes with sunshine... All of that was such a contrast to how I feel about that day now. And I found myself feeling angry that this stupid cancer is tainting the joy of that triumphant, cancer-free day. Previously, that day, Sept. 17, 1999, was to me a day of life. As the American Cancer Society says, it was my "birthday," my cancer-free day. Now it has become the day that contributed to more disease.

[Just a note on dates: Sept. 17, 1999 was the last day of treatment for my first cancer - my cancer free birthday. On Sept. 17, 2012, I had an incision biopsy of the area that now has cancer (it was negative then, now it is positive). I had my first breast biopsy last summer on my birthday. I had my lumpectomy on Michael's birthday. The lymph node biopsy that I had in 1999, my first ever surgery, was on May 13. My mastectomy is scheduled for May 14. So almost 14 years to the day after my first cancer diagnosis (May 17, 1999), I will once again, for the third time, be cancer free. (Third time's the charm? Let's hope so.) Just sort of funny how those things have lined up.]

One thing I noticed as I spoke with my spiritual director about everything going on in my heart is that to me, breast cancer has been so much more an emotional disease than a physical one. I felt the same about Hodgkin's - although with Hodgkin's, I could at least see the lumps and did notice they caused in me a cough that I could never seem to clear. With breast cancer, I can't even feel the lump. I don't feel or look sick at all. It seems silly to say I am sick. The only physical pain I have is from the scar tissue from the treatments and biopsies.

And yet this has had a dramatic effect on my ability to function, because I'm an emotional mess. Just like I felt fine with Hodgkin's - an A student, active in sports and music - until they put me through chemotherapy and radiation, I feel fine with breast cancer, until it became clear it would take my breast. The emotional impact of that eats away at me - at my hopes and dreams and visions of what my life was supposed to be like. I feel anger, an emotion I otherwise rarely feel. I feel guilt because of my lack of focus and energy at work, which makes me feel even more angry because it is so ridiculous to feel guilty about something I can't help. I feel sadness. I feel tired. I feel fear. I feel a need to go to counseling (which I did and do). I have felt pissed at God. I have felt frustrated with people close to me. I have felt like I don't have a grip on my life.

But my body? That feels fine.

So fine, in fact, that it still seems utterly preposterous that I am cutting off a whole body part - and a part I rather like - to cure some disease that has no noticeable effect on me right now. I won't feel any better physically after May 14, and in fact, I'll feel worse.

So where is God in that? My spiritual director pointed out that it could be very helpful to think about breast cancer as an emotional disease as much as a physical one. I need to heal where I am broken, right? And clearly I feel more poignantly a broken heart than a broken boob. So it is good that I am going to counseling. It is good that I am seeing my spiritual director, and talking with friends and family, and processing things through this blog. All of this helps my emotional health, which will in turn help my physical health. In that way, it reveals a more holistic understanding of health, and helps me understand not only my own health, but that of the people to whom I minister. I understand very deeply what is involved in an illness, especially one that leaves you with holes and losses, where you don't come out at the other end "all better." And where is God in that? Ours is a God who answers prayers, and I do hope and trust that all the prayers that are being said on my behalf for health and healing will aid in my physical body's recovery. But regardless of what happens with my physical body, I believe even more fervently that these prayers are sustaining my heart and soul, and have and will continue to aid in the healing of these unseen elements, too. In understanding breast cancer as an emotional disease, I also understand my God as a God who heals us inside and out.

Healer of our every ill,
light of each tomorrow,
give us peace beyond our fear,
and hope beyond our sorrow.

You who know our fears and sadness,
grace us with your peace and gladness,
Spirit of all comfort: fill our hearts.

Amen.

Moments

As the big day nears, I have found there are a few moments that have stuck in my head, reflecting back on this journey.

The first is my bridal shower. This was a beautiful day - the day after Easter. I was by Lake Ontario at my aunt and uncle's house, and it was sunny, and the lake looked fantastic.

I was wearing a really fun dress with airplanes on it, and a new funky necklace my mom had just given me (a locket... I adore lockets), and bright yellow shoes. I had just gotten a call from the doctor saying that my MRI from earlier that morning had come back clear, but I had not yet gone to the doctor that ended up taking the biopsy that led to more cancer. So as far as I knew, I was still cancer-free. I was surrounded by people I love, who love me, and sunflowers, and my mom and my best friend and my aunt were all there, and people were giving me presents, and everyone was smiling and laughing. It was lovely. I wish it could be that day forever.

The next moment I think about was July 9, 2012, the day I had the mammogram that had calcifications that led to a biopsy. I had not yet had the biopsy - I scheduled it for my birthday, July 12, because my mom was coming in that morning, and I wanted her to be with me. The moment is sitting on Michael's porch, waiting for him to come home. I had told him to please hurry - I had something I had to talk to him about. When he did come home, he came up on the porch and sat next to me, took my hand, and looked concerned - he knew something was up, but had no idea what. That face is in my memory - so sweet, concerned, loving, supportive. Pure love. I told him what I had learned, and the next steps, likely finishing with something like, "It's probably nothing, but we have to be sure." (That did actually end up being nothing - it wasn't until an MRI found another area that they found the cancer.) Michael listened very calmly, and told me we would get through it, and that if worse came to worse, and I had to get a mastectomy, he would get a tattoo on the same breast, so he could be in solidarity with me. I laughed (though he did not - he was serious!) and said, "Oh, I'm not going to need a mastectomy. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

The last moment that has been in my head is Sept. 17, 1999, my last day of cancer treatments from Hodgkin's. My best friend Noelle brought flowers to school for me that day. I had them on my desk in 2nd period English, and my teacher interrupted himself and asked what they were for - a birthday? I said it was my last day of radiation treatments - after today, I was cancer free. He smiled. He went on talking, but then stopped, choked up. "Sorry, I'm a little choked up about Johanna," he said. Later that day, as I walked out of my last radiation treatment, I raised my hands above my head, triumphant! "Good job, body!" I said. "You did it!" As we drove away from the hospital, we stopped at a stoplight at an intersection, and who should be crossing the street but Dr. West, my medical oncologist, who had first introduced himself with a handshake as a "lumps and bumps doctor," back before I knew that the masses in my chest were cancer. I rolled down the window. "Dr. West!!" He came over to say hello. "Guess what? I just finished cancer treatments!" He smiled and said, "Well, congratulations!" and he shook my hand through the open window. That day was such joy. I have such some warm, wonderful feelings about that day.

And now I think about that day, and the 16 days before it during which I had radiation treatments, and I don't feel the same joy. Now that joy is tainted because those days caused what I am going through now, caused my breast tissue to rebel and turn into cancer.

I hate that. I loved that day. Cancer free. "I just finished cancer treatments," I had said. And now I am sitting here, all dolled up in my party dress for my Bye-bye Boobie party, giving my left breast a last hurrah before she is no more.

Famous last words, I guess.

A day in the life

The 36 hours between Sunday evening and this morning was a pretty good snapshot of my life these days. Sunday night I realized my pre-op was the next morning, and finally had an emotional breakdown about all of this, realizing how how close it was, and wept into Michael's chest for a good long time. The next morning, we spent at the hospital at a pre-op appointment for my mastectomy. It took four, almost five hours when all was said and done. I worked on a sermon a bit in the afternoon. I emailed a few wedding photographers. Michael and I went to a second showing of a house we liked. We put an offer on it. I was so nervous I thought I would throw up, and could barely sign my name. I went to a Mutual Ministry Committee meeting. I slept. I went to text study group in the morning. I got a text saying our house offer had been accepted. I laughed and jumped up and down and couldn't even read the text I was so beside myself with emotion.

And there you have it. My life in a nutshell.

Each of those things deserves a whole blog, and might get one, but here's the overview. Sunday night I was exhausted. Two worship services, my final spring concert for my choir, dinner with a fun couple from church. Michael and I were relaxing Sunday night, and I was looking at my calendar for the next day, and there it was: "Pre-op appointment." And I thought, "Whoa, this is only a week away." And I felt the emotion I had compartmentalized so well by distracting myself with so many better things now creep up my chest and suddenly come out, and I was crying. Sobbing. "This is stupid! I'm only 29! This is so dumb! I only have one more week with my boob!" Here after I'd just preached a sermon on finding peace in a decision, I was lashing out - though to be fair, in all that I never thought I'd made the wrong decision. I still knew it was right. I just wished I didn't have to have made it. Michael said and did all the right things - told me I am and will be beautiful, told me we would get through this with God's help, made me repeat that, told me to breathe, told me he's got me, agreed that it wasn't fair, said we'd get through it... and he just held me. He prayed aloud for me and for us while he held me.  When it comes down to it, it was pretty beautiful. He is pretty beautiful.

So the next morning, yesterday, we went to the pre-op. The nurse took a sort of overview of my health, a baseline of where I am now, going into this thing. Told me what to expect. Turns out the surgery will probably only take about 3 hours tops, and also I'm not the first case, but the second (around 11am). She told me about the radioactive dye they will put in me for the senitinal node biopsy, and assured me it wasn't TOO much radioactivity. (There go my dreams of being a super hero.) This is sort of cool thing, the sentinal node biopsy. It can only happen while my breast is still in place, so they do it before the mastectomy. A couple hours before, they put in this dye (I believe there are two, one radioactive, one that is blue) in my breast, and the first lymphnode that it drains to is called the sentinal node - the node that keeps guard. (The blue dye, by the way, will turn my pee bright blue for a bit, as well as possibly the skin around my breast - so maybe there's hope for my super hero dreams after all.) They take out that node and the surrounding ones (5-6 total) and biopsy them to make sure there is no cancer in them. If there is, then the DCIS has become invasive, and we'll have to go from there. But they're expecting it to be negative, based on my biopsy. Meanwhile, the mastectomy happens, and then the plastic surgeon comes in to do the implant, sews me up, puts in a drain, and calls it a day. The purpose of the drain is that when something is suddenly missing from the body, the body tries to fill it with fluid, so the drain keeps the fluid going through and out until my body figures out how to adjust. We have to empty the drains and keep track of the fluid. So. Gross. I'm happy to hand that job over to parents and Michael. Blech. (We also learned how they work, which would have been cool, but gross still wins out on that one.)

I also talked to the occupational therapist, who was a very nice lady. She taught me about exercises to do to regain the mobility in my left arm. I won't be able to lift it much right after, but since I'm a rule follower and will do all the exercises just as she said, I should get it back soon. And too bad, I'll have to leave all the vacuuming to other people for a while. Darn that. ;) I got prescriptions for a couple clothing articles - a special mastectomy camisole (complete with pockets to hold my delightful drains), and a compression sleeve. I'll wear this on the plane to California for the wedding in August to help prevent lymphadema. (I only have a 6-18% chance of developing this, so don't be too worried.) The lymph system is affected by pressure and heat, and so long plane rides can cause issues. Apparently you can get a sleeve in paisley, so that's pretty fun. I'll be the most stylish breast cancer survivor on the plane, that's for sure. (If you want to know more about lymphadema, talk to Michael - the lymphatic system is his new favorite topic to research. It's quite fascinating!)

Oh, I'm tired and don't want to get into the next parts of my life - plus, a house deserves its own post! So, stay tuned for more in A Day in the Life of Johanna.

Sermon: Finding peace (May 5, 2013)

Just for the record, my congregations surprised me today by wearing pink to church, to show me their love and support. How blessed am I?? They sure made it hard to preach this one without crying, looking out at all that pink... That you, God, for Bethlehem and St. Martin Lutheran Churches!

May 5, 2013

Easter 6C

John 14:23-29, Rev. 21:10, 22—22:5

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         Several weeks ago now – the week after Easter, to be exact – we heard the Gospel text about doubting Thomas. I preached a sermon that day about doubt and fear, and how when we are in places of doubt and fear, Jesus comes to us and says, “Peace be with you,” just as he did to the fearful disciples in the upper room. That was also the Sunday after I was diagnosed with breast cancer for the second time – a fact some of you knew at the time, and some of you didn’t know until later. But here is what I have noticed: since I preached that sermon, many of you, whether in emails or in passing or while you’re walking out of church, have said or written to me: Peace be with you. You have continued to preach that sermon to me, many times over. It has been especially meaningful to me, because every time someone wishes me peace, I take notice, and hear in your words Jesus speaking to me: “Johanna, peace be with you.” It has been an emotionally tumultuous few weeks for me personally, as well as in the world, and so those words, “Peace be with you,” have been so very important to hear and to share, especially knowing that they are coming from Jesus.

         And now those words have come up again in our lectionary. This time they are not words Jesus speaks to his friends following his resurrection; rather, this time they are words that are a part of what is known as the “farewell discourse,” the long speech that Jesus offers his disciples before he is crucified. He says to them, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

         Largely because of what has been going on in my personal life – not just cancer, but also trying to buy a house and plan a wedding! – I have done a lot of reflection lately on peace – both what it is, and where to find it. What really put me in this mode was something my surgeon said as I was trying to decide what sort of surgery to have and when. She said, “You need to be at peace about this decision. You won’t be equipped to heal and recover unless you are able to find peace.” Wise woman, my surgeon. Thus began a search for the answer to the question: what is peace, and how do we find it?

         First, what is peace. Sometimes we might think of peace as an absence of something – absence of conflict, disturbance, or struggle. That’s a reasonable definition, but I think peace is more than an absence of something – I think it can also be its own presence, too. Sometimes we may equate peace with happiness or contentedness. Those may happen at the same time, and it’s certainly nice if they do, but I would say, not necessarily. You may be at peace with a decision without being really happy about it.

         Okay, so if peace isn’t the absence of conflict, and isn’t happiness, what is it? As is often the case, it is helpful to define peace by way of its opposite, which I would call restlessness. A need unfilled, a desire unsatisfied. Anyone who has had to make a difficult decision understands this. We vacillate this way and that, weighing the pros and the cons, losing sleep over the lack of feeling settled. Or perhaps there is a conflict in your life – disagreements between family members, or trouble in your work place – and you struggle to find a resolution, again weighing all the possibilities of the source of the problem, and how it can be solved or addressed. Restlessness leaves little room for peace.

         It is in these restless times that we often look to faith. Faith does not take away our struggles, conflicts, or indecision. But it does help keep those things from overcoming us. It gives us strength to endure them. It provides a light to guide us through them. It nourishes us even as the world would try to drain us. I love the description in our reading from Revelation that describes the tree of life at the center of the new Jerusalem, the heavenly city of God come down to earth, in which God reigns. It says that the leaves of the tree of life are for the healing of the nations. Healing, of course, doesn’t refer only to our bodies. Our hearts need healing, and our minds, and our souls. Healing is something that must happen inside and out, and when God is the ruler of our lives, it becomes possible for the leaves of God’s tree of life to heal us in all the ways that we need, so that we are, finally, able to endure whatever ails us – so that we are able to find peace.

         St. Augustine, in his Confessions, has this wonderful line: “My heart is restless, O God, until it finds its rest in Thee.” And that is indeed the solution to our restlessness, and how we are able to find the peace that Jesus gives to his disciples. We find our rest, our peace, in God. So the question becomes: how do we do that?

         Our other readings today give us some clues. One of the most compelling parts of this reading from Revelation, at least for me, is this description about how in the city of God, in the time when God reigns, there will be no need for sun or moon to light our way. There will be no night, but only the perpetual light of God’s glory, with Jesus the Lamb as our lamp. The light and darkness dichotomy is an analogy we often use to describe knowledge and lack of knowledge. “I’m in the dark about what’s happening,” we say. Or we get a great idea, and we say, “A light came on.” When there is light, there is knowledge and clarity. And when God is present, as he is perpetually so in the new Jerusalem described in Revelation, we have that light and that clarity.

         But we don’t yet live in the new Jerusalem, so how do we find that light, that clarity of God here and now? One important way, of course, is through prayer. A friend of mine recently mentioned Ignatian spirituality and decision-making. I was not previously familiar with it, but have since become quite interested. It’s a process of praying through an important decision. You have a decision before you, and you lay out the different options. You pray for open-mindedness as you approach them. You make pro and con lists, and pray over those, asking which option will be most authentic to your truest self, and will best glorify God. Pray for openness to God’s will. Consider different outcomes, and pay attention to how you feel about each of them. What emotions arise? Where do those emotions come from? How would you explain how you feel about each outcome to someone else? Pray for positive feelings – for peace – about the right decision. Once you have made a decision, sit with it for a while, and see if that peace remains. If so, trust that God’s light has shown you this way. If not, try again.

         “Our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee,” Augustine writes. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you,” Jesus says. It is a recurring theme: the peace that can calm the restlessness of our lives comes from God, from Christ, from prayer and relationship with God. And so that we can be assured of that peace, and have it with us at all times, Jesus offers this other great gift in this farewell discourse: “The Advocate,” he says, “the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.” Of all the names that we use for the Holy Spirit – dove, comforter, teacher, etc. – “advocate” is probably my favorite. Because what does an advocate do? Speaks on your behalf, intercedes for you when you’re in need, steps in to help when you’re in trouble. This is what the Holy Spirit does for us, you see? Jesus knows that our lives are full of restlessness, that peace is not always easy to come by. He knows that if we are left on our own to pray and to hope, that we will not be able to find that peace. And so God sends us this Holy Spirit to remind us of the peace of Christ, to comfort us in times of trouble, to intercede for us when we can’t find the words to pray, to bring us peace when we are restless and wanting. And so as Jesus says, we do not let our hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. God’s peace is with us.

         Let us pray. God our Advocate, our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee. Be in our decision-making, in our trials, in our conflicts, and help us to always be aware of the work of your Spirit in our lives, interceding for us and bringing peace to our hearts. In the name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Bethlehem Lutheran Church - even some of the dudes who didn't have pink wore pink ribbons.

St. Martin Lutheran Church - several people left before we got a picture, so this was just the left who were wearing pink. 

Preparing

Michael has dubbed me "Ms. Busy." It's true. But I like it this way - I don't have to think about what's happening in 11 days (holy crap) hardly at all! I have commitments almost every night between now and then. That's one way to prepare, I guess.

But worry not, I have still found time to prepare for this in my own ways. I am listening a lot to my boobie playlist, feeling the empowerment, humor, sadness, beauty and fun that is packed into those 40 songs. I am having a Bye-bye Boobie Farewell Party as promised, so some energy has gone into that. (Sorry boys, it is mostly girls only - Michael and Klaus are the only boys invited!) A friend passed on a script for a show she participated in called "Breastify" - sort of a Vagina Monologues for boobies - and I spent a good half a day dreaming about doing such a show here in Rochester. My reconstruction guidebook told me to exercise in preparation for mastectomy so that I will be equipped to heal the best I can, so since the weather has suddenly gotten nicer, Klaus and I have enjoyed several walks (well, I enjoyed them, and Klaus was mostly an ornery sack of lazy bones... aww good boy). Also with the warmth has come some added vitamin D, excellent for preventing breast cancer (still caring for Righty, after all!). Much to my (and admittedly, Michael's) delight, warm weather also means the possibility of clothing that *gasp* reveals a bit of cleavage. (Pastors have cleavage??) So I've worn dresses and/or low-cut tops almost every day this week, and let my left boob get all she can out of the warm weather before she goes bye-bye. This is honestly the primary factor driving my clothing choices each morning.

We've also kept ourselves very busy with house-hunting! Yes, it's true, Michael and I are on the verge of making an offer on a house. After many, many houses and online searches and pro and con lists and google documents... we think we have found one we agree on. We will go see it one more time to be sure, and are looking at one other one that just became available. But then next week we may actually make an offer! It will be great to be able to cross that Big Thing off the list, at least the first step. You know you have a lot going on when people say, "You must be so excited about your wedding!" and I think, "Oh yeah, the wedding..." Not that I have forgotten that, but it is third on the list of major life events right now: First, house. Second, mastectomy. THIRD, wedding. That's three whole months away (from today)! Not only that, having gone through all of this together, it honestly feels like we are already married. We still are very excited to celebrate this joyous union with all our family and friends, but it feels just like making official something that very much feels real. We have gone through as many major life things in our relatively short time together than some couples get in 20 years. I guess that bodes well for the future success of our partnership!

Another thing I have been doing is reading a book called Why I Wore Lipstick to my Mastectomy, by Geralyn Lucas. I saw her interviewed on PBS right before I was diagnosed again - she was 28 when she was diagnosed, recently married, had just landed her dream job at 20/20, was looking forward to having kids... sound familiar? So when I found out I would need a mastectomy, I ordered the book, and it sometimes feels like I am reading my own memoir. We have much in common, and she has gotten me thinking a lot about my situation and how I have processed it. One big difference between us, though, is that she was genuinely concerned for her life - a resounding theme is, "I just hope I make it to 30." I have never once thought I would die from this, and to be honest, I get a little frustrated when people suggest that I might. I never once thought I would die from Hodgkin's (but then, I was an invincible 15-year-old), and the thought that breast cancer would take my life has never crossed my mind, except as something that will not happen. I don't even feel like that is determination speaking, though that's what it sounds like to read it there. I just know it: I'm not going to die from breast cancer. The possibility seems ridiculous, frankly.

That's sort of a random collection of thoughts, and to be honest, I didn't even get to what I intended to write about in this blog. Welcome to the inner workings of my brain these days. Guess I've got more material for later. Until then, in the words of Fleetwwod Mac (now playing on my boobie playlist), "Don't stop thinking about tomorrow. It will soon be here."