He loves us

This is Stella.

I adopted her Wednesday night from a local animal shelter. She’s five years old and has had at least two homes before coming to live with me, and her last family gave her up because she “needed too much attention.” After that she spent three months in a cage in the shelter.

She's rather chubby -- we think one set of owners must have just kept feeding her to keep her quiet. Her first night with me, she cried all night. Last night, her second night, she slept on my bed by my feet. 

She’s very skittish as she’s slowly being exposed to different parts of the house. She heard the toilet flush, and she won’t set paw in that room again. Unfortunately, that’s where I planned to keep her cat box and food tray. I’ll put a couple of cat treats on the floor in there when I go to work and see what happens.

Often, Stella is content to roam around exploring (as long as she’s in the same room as I am),  but every now and then, she needs reassurance. She begins crying and won’t stop unless I’m touching her. At those times, I sit down on the floor next to her and just rub her with both hands, keeping up a steady stream of gentle conversation.

“I love you, Stella. I’m right here, because I love you. I’ll go away for a couple of hours, but then I’ll come back, because I love you. You’ll be fine. You can go explore, and I’ll still be here. Because I love you.”

As I rubbed her head, and kept up the steady stream of reassuring words, I realized how familiar they sounded. That’s what our Abba is whispering down to us in our total panic moments. He will always be with us – because He loves us.

Hold tightly to that promise as you explore today. 

He loves you!

It's time...

I got the call last night that my application has been approved.Tonight I'm going to head out to the Second Chance Animal Shelter to find my new soulmate.

I'm getting a pedicure this afternoon because it's imperative that my feet are up to snuff for that first sniff. What do you wear for such an important first impression?

I am so excited right now that there isn't even an iota of fear about the important I have with my oncologist in two hours...

Isn't it neat how God works?

I remember when I first thought of getting a dog. I wanted a companion to fill the empty nest and to hike in the woods with me. But instead of the butterflies of excitement I have now, it was dragonflies of fear whenever I thought of the commitment. What if I'm too tired? What if I need another surgery -- who'll take it for walks? What if the cancer comes back? How do you explain to a dog that you're dying? Who will tell the puppy waiting for me by the door that I'll never get home?

Cancer can take away your ability and desire to make long term plans and commitments.

But God can give it back.

I also remember the day when I shared these fears with a friend. Before I could even finish my list of what if's, she barged right in with the simple words, "I'll take him" and the simple promise that no matter what happened to me, that dog would still be loved. 

Friends -- do you have any idea what heavy loads you lift off tired shoulders with only your simple words?

Just the reminder that no one truly walks alone helps get me through the darker days.

But today there's not even a hint of darkness.

Because today I'm letting go of the fears and embracing the Hope.

This May marks 6 years since my diagnosis.

Six years!

Every milestone this year will bump me out of that dreaded 3-5 bracket and into a whole new future. And I'm ready to share that future. 

Time to pet proof the house...

Contentment

Yesterday, in the middle of my walk in closet, surround by not-quite-neatly folded clothes and cleaning supplies, I made a realization. Today, crawling through the dark caves at Purgatory Chasm and skidding on the ice at the bottom, I made it again.

The realization? I am happy in my own skin. 

 It’s been almost six years since I last said.

A cancer diagnosis can have a tendency to stir up a feeling of discontent. A handful or two of scars and some removed chunks of skin can turn that discontent to loathing. Losing hair, and then body parts that you didn’t even know you valued can even lead to a touch of despair.

 The slinking fear of recurrence hiding out in the deepest depths of your heart take a steady toll, too. 

All that compounded with constant exhaustion from chemo or radiation or surgery can leave you distrustful of the body you’ve been trapped in.  If I go for a walk, will I have the energy to come home? Will I get sick if I eat that? Will I get sick if I don’t?

Then, of course, there’s the wardrobe. Comfy sweaters are too scratchy for aching skin. Favorite jeans won’t fit over the extra pounds of chemo, or slide off because of the lost pounds. Fitted blouses don’t fit if you don’t have breasts. After each surgery, I never knew which clothes in my closet would fit.

But somehow, today, all of that is meaningless again.

Because once again, I am happy in my own skin.

Maybe it was the last surgery – I finally slipped close enough to normal to feel normal. Maybe it’s simply that Spring is here after a long, hard winter. Maybe Mom’s been praying for me again. Maybe God reached down and retuned my heart. Probably a combination of all of those. But it doesn’t really matter.

Once again, I don’t need to know the why.

I just need to know that He loves me. And, as corny as it may sound, I love me, too.