Pink Boa

I lay on the radiation table, hands clasped above my head according to my foam molded pillow, head turned slightly to the right. I am alone in the huge treatment room, walls painted to look friendly. They have taken two x-rays, the doctor has told the techs to tweak my position so the four radiations hit their targets precisely.

I'm in the white gown with the blue 1950's design of triangles. I hear the Trilogy's motor rev up, it is going to move into position over me. I start praying for the radiation to hit the cancer cells and squish them dead.

I am visualizing a shield over my left lung and heart and spine, to protect them from collateral damage.

I take a deep breath to give my lung cells all the oxygen possible to fight off the radiation they will get by their location. In and out.

Visualize the shield, visualize the squish of cancer cells popping. Breathe. Visualize.

Interrupting this rosary-like recitation comes my own voice clear and strong in my head saying, I am cured. I have no cancer in my body.

My mind stopped. What?

Nothing. That was it. Two sentences spoke out from somewhere deep inside.

The machine keeps humming and moving and zapping. I keep my arms and body still, but I am done. It has worked. All the surgery, chemo, radiation, prayer, visualization, and Arimidex to come... this has worked. I am cured.  Tears are coming down my face. The techs come in to make sure I haven't shifted, and they politely ignore my tears. They have seen this before I am certain.

I leave the treatment room, I take off the tent-like hospital gown and put on my top and fleece. The techs wish me well and tell me, God Bless. I can't stop the tears, happy, upwelling of emotion. Into the waiting room where S is, this was only twenty minutes, my shortest appointment ever!

Oh, how funny life is. If this had been a normal length of an appointment, I would have walked out the front door and been surprised by a white limo filled with friends and champagne.

COOL!

But I was done fifteen minutes earlier than normal, and the limo was still in downtown Winter Park gathering the well-wishers. S could stall me five minutes say, but not the fifteen  minutes needed for the limo to get from there to here! I had no idea, this was all a surprise. All this was unknown to me, so I was floating along, happy as a clam.  Not knowing there was a blip in the carefully crafted schedule. I'm a little teary-eyed still.

I have decided to not wear my wig anymore. I have a half inch of hair back already. Looks like a seven-year-old's crew cut. It will grow back, and we all will watch and celebrate. 

Back to my house we went. Moments after getting home, up drove the limo and friends. AHHHH! I got all decked out in pink. Pink cowboy hat, pink feather boas, tiara with paste diamonds, blinking flamingo necklaces.  Looking at the photos, boy I was cheesy, posing and swishing my boa. And I loved it!

Yoga pose, I was HAPPY!

What were my thoughts when I opened the door, saw friends and feathers and blinking flamingos? First I thought, okay what do I do? How should I react? I am so tired (went to La Nouba the night before which was SO FUN with the family.) How do I chat with everyone and make sure they have a good time because oh my they are doing all this for me.

That line of thinking lasted exactly ten seconds.

My second wave of thoughts washed out the first thought. Second wave said, This is SO COOL and I want to wear all the pink and Look at all these really neat women and I'll take a glass of champagne and Let me pose and This only happens once so JUST FEEL IT and Swim  in the pool of happiness!

Piled into the limo, drove to nowhere and back, waved Bye-Bye at the Cancer Institute of Florida Hospital as we passed, a lit at Park Plaza Gardens where more friends were, Table 1 and Table A. Bubbles and beads and pink balloons. Delicious strawberry champagne.

Lovely lunch, hugs and smiles and love. Just plain love. Every woman there had gone out of her way, way out of her way, to give me a flower for my bouquet of kindnesses that carried me through the past nine months. NINE MONTHS, I could have made a baby!

Some of my dear ones were out of town, but I thought about you during lunch. You guys have brought me dinner, soup, DVD's, flowers, books, texted me, lunched with me, walked with me, taken me to doctors, the list goes on and on and on.

S surprised me the night before, came down from Charlotte and was at home when we got back from dinner. Can you believe it? That in itself turned my melancholy into a celebration. Then the surprise of today revved it up even more.  I was walking on sunshine, to coin a phrase.

I asked a few of the women there what was their experience at the end of their cancer treatment. Similar to mine, you are all geared up to fight cancer, then it's an anti-climax. Too tired to celebrate. What do you do now?

Mike said doctors are trained to fix illness, they don't focus on wellness. They just don't do wellness well. You have to do that yourself.

M said, trust God will show you how to help others with what you have learned. Don't stress out over finding who to help or what to do. He will show you.

I gave out pink pearl bracelets to those who didn't have them yet.  Remembering three thank you's -
1. Thank you for being a flower in my kindnesses bouquet
2. Thank God for loving us with an everlasting love, for healing
3. Thankful hearts for trials, as they bring out love. They make us who we are today. Remember the oyster, who makes beauty from an irritating grain of sand.

Being an only child, I have the big fear of being alone. I know one of my weaknesses is needing other people. Now I also see this as a strength, as it fuels me to gather people together around me.

I have seen through the course of this healing that I am not alone. I have learned that I really do need my dear friends and family to shower me with love. And I want to shower them with love. I really do need God, who shows himself through me and others. I have learned to ask for comfort. I have learned to receive love. I have learned that I am not alone.

I have learned that God will show me the way.
Lean into him and trust.
Goodness is right around the corner, goodness and loving-kindness.
I can't always see it, but it is there. 

Words emailed last night from a dear friend L:

The absolute joy and complete "in the moment" abandon with which you embraced everyone and everything that came at you made our time together magical.

Thank you, dear friend, for allowing us to join you, through these past nine months, to surround you with the love, respect, support, sadness and happiness we felt with and for you.  That we might learn, remember and understand that one should embrace challenges with a balance of knowledge, resolve, vulnerability, determination and courage.  

 

That reaching to others and asking that they walk with you allows a depth of friendship to surface, otherwise, possibly unsaid, unexpressed.

I am not alone.
I am loved.
You are loved. 
With an everlasting love.

Off I go
knowing God will shine his light on my path
and shower you and me with love,
forever and always.

Radiation Tips

I wrote out Chemo tips, so thought as I am at the finish line of radiation I would summarize my tips to someone starting out in radiation.

1. Buy a larger, soft bra. You will swell slightly. And while you are at it, buy two Barely There Sports bras in one size larger, with no under wire and nothing rubbing you at all. I started wearing them at the half way point. By the last week, I went without a bra. By necessity.  Yes I did.

2. Ask what cream you can use to keep the skin as healthy as possible. The first week my skin burned and the breast swelled up so much they were a little concerned. I started putting on Lavender Oil, followed by Aloe, and it stayed under control. The last week they told me they were really surprised I did as well as I did, considering I was so red and swollen the first week. Lavender Oil, pure, just rub it on the whole radiation area. It absorbs right away. I bought four aloe plants, and cut off two inches each application, cut the sides of them (prickly) and rubbed the aloe right onto my skin. The doctor also suggested Aquaphor immediately after each treatment, which I did a handful of times. Remember, nothing four hours before a treatment.

3. You will be tired probably, it builds up. I started getting tired the fourth week, only Friday and the weekends. So you nap, not difficult to figure out. You do need to plan for it, realize your body is telling you it needs sleep. I would see friends at lunch, do errands then come home and nap. It is not sleepy, it is your body having little energy.

4. Radiation's effects are delayed, so you will be tired weeks past the last treatment.

5. While you are getting treatment, which is only minutes long, visualize the radiation killing the cancer cells.  Visualize your lungs and heart and nerves and bones shielded from harm. This is one of the tools to fight the cancer that was in you, and it is powerful stuff. It will work. It has worked for thousands in the past, and it will work for you.

6. Bring Joy into your life. Set yourself up to succeed. You will.
Truly, radiation is showing up to the appointments, and a little discomfort of your breast. Very do-able.

Unsettled

Two more radiations. Then I take an Arimidex pill (a generic of it) daily for the next five years.

Last night I lay in bed thinking, I should feel like jumping up and down and celebrating. Instead I feel a bit unsettled. What's this all about? Is this strange?

Ever feel like this at the end of a long-term tough time? Unsettled.

Well, first of all I am tired and blistered. Certainly throws clouds into your thoughts.

But here's what I think. I've been fighting a battle against a known enemy, tumor in the breast, tumor in the lymph nodes. We've been using tried and true heavy duty weapons like surgery, chemo and radiation. An arsenal of weapons against a tiny group of mutated cells. Statistically, they had little chance to make it through. eight months of full-on attack.

Now we are approaching a new stage. Putting away those big guns because the cancer cells are gone (standing firm on that one), need to rebuild from the collateral damage done to my healthy body over the last eight months of warfare.

There's no doctor to lead you on this path. You are on your own. Doctors focus on fixing a problem, not on maintaining wellness. I get the arm port out in January, I see the oncologist in April, and the radiology oncologist in April. They think I will have a mammogram in April. They will see me annually for five years. That's it. Slam, bam, thank you ma'am.

It's the change from front line battle under the direction of the five star general, to returning to normalcy making sure to reinvent enough of the structure of everyday life to prevent another uprising.

It's the change from full time eradicating cancer using the tested protocols dictated by doctors, to returning to normalcy making sure I redirect enough of my everyday life to prevent cancer from returning.

I see this, I am now on my own. NO WAIT, not true. Who is always with me, the Lord. Who will speak to me, guide me, promises He will meet my every need? The Lord. Who has been there every step of the way for eight months? The Lord. Who has shown me love, through my family and friends, more than I could have imagined? The Lord.

And what is the ONE thing I need to do? Be still and listen to him. Know that He is God, not me. Trust this in my heart. From the peace of my heart, He will pour out love to others. There's my mission marching forth.

Antioxidants, exercise, meditation, prayer, yoga, being with family, travel, being with friends, cooking, reading, baseball, church, time to be still. These will knit together to form my daily life. The Lord will light the path for me so I will be light hearted. All I need is here. Right here.

Day After Christmas

I have always loved the Day After Christmas. Everything is quite, everyone is peaceful, everyone feels loved. The decorations are still up, Christmas Carols are still appropriate, the refrigerator is FULL of leftovers. Good leftovers. There are absolutely no expectations of what anyone should do.

Radiology was closed Christmas Eve (Friday) so I have three days of no treatments. The last TWO are Monday and Tuesday. Good timing, as I have blistering under my arm (node removal area) and under my boob (chafing.) I am still applying lavender oil and aloe plant aloe twice a day, and wearing the barely there sports bra. I am really pleased at how little skin is burned. Really pleased, and it is so temporary. As you can imagine, I didn't feel like dressing fancy for Christmas, this is a relaxed Christmas for our family.

Christmas Eve we went out to Del Friscos, a local steakhouse. Delicious steak and shrimp and onion rings and Mandarin Cake, high energy atmosphere. A hit with all. We brought a gift for Mack, Tray and Corey to open up at the table. Yes, we had ALL THE KIDS here with us this Christmas, there's the best gift of all. With dessert they opened up their boxes, which each held a Santa Hat. Inside the hats were tickets to the Orlando Magic basketball game at 2:30 Christmas afternoon. They were so surprised and shocked and thrilled. This is hard to do for twenty five to thirty year old kids, but it worked! Did they suspect that this was really a gift to me, of four hours of nap time Christmas afternoon? HA!

Christmas Eve service is magical. Best part, everyone holding their candle aloft, lit from one candle up front, singing Silent Night. Good thought, as we extinguished our candles the pastor told us May the light of God in your hearts continue burning, and may that light shine before men that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father in heaven. (Matthew 5).


Light and love.  That pretty much sums Christmas up.


Christmas morning we picked up Pop-Pop, ate some breakfast, opened gifts. How fun it that? Everyone thinking about the other. Stories behind many.  The family left for Magic game, I plopped on the sofa, exhausted. That profound tired. 

Watched EAT LOVE PRAY. I started crying when she was in India. I remember now the moment, Julia Roberts is on the roof with the Texan. He has just told her his story, and he walks off. She was replaying her wedding dance in her mind. Instead of the song they chose together, her husband had them play Celebrate Good Times, and he danced around her. Hmmm. Indicative of their (failed) marriage, he changed with the wind, and didn't consider her needs. She felt invisible, morphed into him. At that moment in the movie, on the roof in India, she is forgiving him. And working on forgiving herself. The Texan says, Do the work, forgive yourself.

Forgive yourself. This is amazingly more difficult to do than you think.
Voices, noise, dogs running in circles, doors shutting. They are home.  I'm up now. Couldn't put on anything fancy, just cotton pants and stretchy shirt. Black stretchy shirt, every woman's secret item. The best sporting event she's ever attended, says Tray.  Turn on Christmas carols, five CD's all set to go. Turkey is in the top oven, stuffing in the bottom one. Just made gravy, with thyme and white wine. Mack remembers T-shirt that said Homonyms are a reel waist of thyme.  Salad is organized. Purchased a mocha Buche de Noel from great French bakery in town, The Croissant Gourmet. That's all the prep I did.  Put out the cheese ball (a gift) and crackers. 

The M's arrive, friends from college thirty two years ago who now live in town.  How cool is that? They brought vegetables and appetizers and rolls. And energy. Two of their kids are in college, so kids and adults are all chatting, in the kitchen. They set the table, bring in chairs, put in the leaf because I miscounted.  Oops! 


Last Christmas we had twenty two, because I wanted to have love and energy so I wouldn't miss Tray and Mack so much. They are married and I know we have to share them with her family. I know that.  Anyway, we had every bring one thing last year to share at dinner that reflected Christmas, such as poem, song, verses. 



This year, thanks to a Tuesday lunch discussion, we all opted for a different route. Everyone was to present a word, ONE WORD, that to them was the word for the coming year. Leaning towards an adjective, but not necessary. Would have been interesting had anyone chosen an article or a preposition. HA! Oh my goodness, it was so cool. I truly thank everyone at the table for this. A new Christmas tradition. Are you wondering what they are? 


Mack - EDUCATIONAL. set on path for higher degree, wife chosen new field. 
S - CHERISH. junior in college, knows this time and relationships are precious.
B - ADVENTURE. year of newness, new places, new structure, new events. zest for stretching. 
A - REALITY. senior in college, next chapter in life, open arms for where, what, who God will bring.
Mike - NORMALCY. as in Calvin Coolidge's "Return to" after WWI. proactive not reactive.
Corey - GENESIS. new beginnings for whole family. he's choosing new field.
Tray - CARING. for husband, in career, for family. 
C - EFFORT. in school, in life, in faith. a chance to step it up. 
C - EVOLUTION. adapting to life events, for the better. redirection.
Doug - CLAIRE. remembering the love of his life.
Sara - VIBRANT. full of life and light and love and health, spilling out on others. 


Looking back on the two days of Christmas, sharing these words at the dinner table was my favorite moment. A moment of hope and future, and a moment of love for each other. Thank you dear hearts.

Think, what was your favorite moment of this Christmas?

Random lessons from my IPAD

Over the past nine months I have written on my IPAD notebook lessons I learned at that given moment. Here they are, in order of being written...

1. Every one has some part of their heart that is fragile, not just people with cancer. Everyone is fighting some battle. Be encouraging to everyone.

2. The saying isn't 'God never gives you more than you can handle.'

        It is 'God can handle anything you have.' and He always wins.

3. Choose joy.

4. Do not let the fear horses out of the stable.

5. Jesus will provide for all your needs, even the ones You don't realize you have.

6. It is okay to take care yourself.

7. I need a community.

Figure out a way, your way, to stay close to Jesus. To stay connected to God. When Mom died, M said I glowed. And I felt amazingly peaceful. B said she never felt more alive than when she was going through chemo. Jesus is right here, He is as real as a rock. He is as solid as the chair i am sitting on. So are the prayers of friends. He is abiding in me. I don't want this part to change! This is why some people go to mass every day, to stay connected. I know prayer and bible reading time gets shoved smaller and becomes non existent when I am healthy. I don't want that to happen ever again. God will show me the way.

Remember to thank Jesus for his healing every day, from my toes on up, healing by the blood of the lamb who was slain for me. Healing by the Grace of God.

Don't shy away from people offering you gifts, kind words, opening up to you.

Never refuse a cup of hot tea, especially if it is peppermint.

Heal me God that I might do your will, to your glory, for the rest of my life. From Fr Jim Holbeck sermon online.

Each day, even during chemo and radiation, will be a beautiful day!

Trust God will tell me every step of the way.

I need Jesus.

Busy isn't the goal. If you don't want to be too busy, you won't be. It is your choice. You have a choice.

God will be there in my future. Don't fear it.

Don't let that sun set on your anger. Forgive. Forgive completely, without reservations.

Apologize. As far as is possible, be at peace with everyone. Love them. Pray for them.

Meditate every day.

Choose who you spend your time with. Choose carefully, for you will become like them.

Hang up the superwoman cape. I can't do everything.

Choose to do good. If you know something is wrong, just DON"T DO IT. Don't be tempted, don't rationalize. If you dance too close to the fire, you will get burned at some point. Believe me, doing the right thing and loving unconditionally is far more wild and crazy and  fun than choosing the shadows.

Search for people, places, things and events to nourish your soul. It's the only part of you that is eternal.

Take the time to love yourself, so that then, from the overflow, you can spill out love on others.

Live with integrity. What is integrity? Keep your promises. Speak truth. Admit mistakes right away.

Live transparently.

Seek a relationship with God with your whole heart.  Being in a community of Christians makes it a lot easier. We are meant to live in community.

Religion is man-made. When you hear something religious, just make sure it holds up under the light of  "God is Love."

You have time to do everything that is important to you. Once in awhile, do a self-check and see where you spend most your time, what is important to you.

People who love generously will always feel loved, at some point.

Don't repeatedly tell God your same problems or worries. Tell them to him once or a few times, then live trusting and thanking Him for his answer, even before you see it.

Do not be afraid of darkness. In it you will find your light, and your light will be clearer than ever.

I am one grain of sand on the beach.

Being still is the most exciting part of my day.

Keep your focus on God. All day long.

Sent from my iPad 

December 22, 2001

Wednesday nine years ago my mother died. God gave me two gifts that night, one I asked for specifically and one I never ever could have even imagined, that was and will always be one of the most close-to-heaven moments ever. Let me tell you how it all happened.

Mom and I were close, very close. We laughed , we argued, we planned, we figured things out. Spent a lot of time together.  Discussed every detail of my life, the kids, Mike, and her and Dad. Mom was one of those people who are like glue and magnets. She knew how to engage people and knit them together in a substantial way like glue, and people were drawn to her warmth like iron to a magnet. The last five years of her life she was in a wheelchair, her body failing her from forty years of insulin-dependent diabetes. She was overweight, partially blind from macular degeneration. She was on oxygen twenty four hours a day, due to chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Despite all this,  she was full of life.

College graduation, Mike and I with my parents

I got a phone call from Dad on December second,  to come right away.  Mom had fainted and fallen, and didn't want him to call 911. I was close by, and got there in about ten minutes. Mom had gotten herself back into bed and was lying on her right side. I lay next to her, she was crying. She said, Sara don't call the ambulance. I just want to die. I am ready. Please just let me die.  Oh no Mom, I said. Let's get the ambulance, have them take you right to the Winter Park Hospital and let's see what happened, why you fell.

So we did and they came. For eighteen days in Winter Park Hospital we were hopeful. They tested Mom all around, she was walking a few steps with her walker, she was breathing better. She had a private room, we had a CD player with Christmas Carols going, we read from the Bible, from the Episcopal Prayer Book. So hopeful.

The morning of December twentieth, I walked into her room to see two nurses holding her up in bed, trying to get her sit up. She couldn't hold her head up, kept slouching her back, couldn't talk. It was as if she were continually almost waking up, then right away falling asleep. I told them to lie her back on the bed. They did. I called her doctors and Dr. W arrived within the hour. Her kidneys had shut down, her heart rate and blood pressure were below normal, her oxygen level was terribly low, her body was failing.

Thankfully we have fantastic General Practitioners who are willing to talk honestly.  And pray with you. They explained to us what was happening to Mom's body.  They would do their best to keep her comfortable throughout her dying. He had the IV and monitors disconnected. Medicines discontinued. The nurses came in every three hours to check Mom's pulse, that is it. And morphine if she ever grimaced or groaned as if in pain.

I stayed in the chair next to her that day. And the next. And the next. She lay there not moving. I massaged
moisture cream onto her feet and legs. I moistened her lips with water and lip goop. I prayed, sang, read to her. I talked to her. I told her it was okay to die.

The afternoon of December twenty second, Mom hadn't moved or spoken or opened her eyes in two days. I was sitting in my brown vinyl reclining chair next to her hospital bed. Mom was lying on her side, with her back to me. I heard her say, Sara, and then she giggled. Two days she hadn't moved to spoken a word. I shot up, leaned over her and said, What is it Mom?

She said, in a clear strong voice, Oh Sara the puppies, don't you love the puppies? So many puppies. Yes, I said. I love them.  Her eyes were closed, she was gripping my hand in hers.

She went on, smiling and talking with animation, And the daisies. So many daisies. In the meadow, so beautiful. Daisies all around me. I can pick them. Aren't they beautiful, Sara?

Oh, they are beautiful Mom. Just beautiful.

And there's Uncle Charlie. Giggle - giggle. Uncle Charlie.

Who's Uncle Charlie, I ask. No answer.

Sara, You have been the best daughter I could ever have had. I am so happy.

Oh Mom, you have been the best mom.  I love you so much.

Yes I know.

Silence.

Mom, what do you see now?

Daisies, daisies. Uncle Charlie is holding out his arms to me. He wants me to go with him. I love you.

Mom, go. It's okay. I love you.

Then she stopped talking. Didn't move. Didn't say another word. This was late in the afternoon of December twenty second. I was speechless. I had heard that she felt my love. Through all my years with Mom, the mistakes I made, anything I had done that had hurt her, she forgave me. She knew I loved her. Oh, thank you Lord for these words. And she was happy, dying was a happy ending for her. I knew what the puppies and daisies meant, but not Uncle Charlie.

Puppies. Mom's father's job was raising, showing and judging Golden Retrievers and Irish Setters. They had a six run Puppy Kennel at Tercor Kennels. It was like heaven in there. You would step into the puppy box and six to ten puppies would crawl all over you, licking and nudging and tumbling. I can even smell their warm smell now. Cuddly and cozy. Unconditional love.

Daisies. Mom's favorite flower. White with yellow centers. Her childhood home had a meadow beyond the kennels.  In summer it was filled with wild daisies. Magical. The brook beyond, and past that the blueberries and asparagus patch. Joy as of a child.

Uncle Charlie. I asked Mom's sister who he was. He was their first relative to die, their mother's brother. My aunt remembered the funeral, the reception afterward at the house. My Mom saw her uncle reaching for her. Being carried by family. Family.

What a gift for me to hear. That Mom loved me, knew I loved her. That Mom wasn't afraid of death, in fact she giggled and was joyful. What a gift from God.

By 10 PM that evening, I was exhausted. I had been sleeping in the brown vinyl recliner for two nights, and had woken up every three hours anyway when the nurses come in. I craved a good night's sleep. So I prayed:  Dear Lord, I know this sounds unusual, but you will understand. Could you keep Mom alive until tomorrow morning, or let her die right now? I am really tired and would appreciate a good night's sleep. I find it hard to believe I really prayed that, but I did.  She died within the hour. Another gift.

Do you remember your thoughts the moment your mother died? I felt as if I were a boat and my anchor had been cut off. I was happy for her, to no longer be contained in flesh that failed her. Sadness for me missing her. Thinking of her feelings, I pictured her dancing, with a body that would let her move and be light and energetic. So I was so thankful for her she could now be free.

I hugged her and felt the warmth leave her flesh. I wanted one last hug. Mike and Dad came to her bedside with me. The nurse that night, who didn't work this hospital but had been scheduled this shift, was the mom of one of Mike's ex-little leaguers. So good to have her voice, which was familiar, telling me there was no pulse.

We drove home, I piled into cool sheets. It felt like I was lying down in a cloud. I fell right asleep, and I think I slept for two days.

What a gift, to hear Mom's words. Knowing she was happy, happy with me and happy to be moving on to heaven. Surrounded by love and beauty and family members.

I grieved Mom's death for weeks. The ache and tears receded over time. At random moments I miss her still. I will break out in tears wishing I could lean towards her and tell her something that's on my heart. Then she would look at me, put her arm around me, and talk with me about it. She didn't have all the answers, but she certainly would walk through it with me, whatever it was and however long it took.

I have thought, I am really glad  for Mom that she is watching my breast cancer healing from heaven, where she sees the happy ending. When you know there is a happy ending, it makes the in between tough days a lot easier to take.

Everyone's life has a happy ending. That's my prayer.

1 Cor 13 for Christmas

So many are right now going through tough times, surgery or financial tightness or loosing loved ones, or the realization that this body won't last forever. I think we all get the meaning of this re-written familiar passage. When I read it, I saw she put into words what I think, but she says it so much better than I...

 

1 Corinthians 13 ... Christmas Style By Sharon Jaynes

 If I decorate my house perfectly with lovely plaid bows, strands of twinkling lights, and shiny glass balls, but do not show love to my family – I’m just another decorator.  If I slave away in the kitchen, baking dozens of Christmas cookies, preparing gourmet meals, and arranging a beautifully adorned table at mealtime, but do not show love to my family – I’m just another cook.

If I work at the soup kitchen, carol in the nursing home, and give all that I have to charity, but do not show love to my family – it profits me nothing.  If I trim the spruce with shimmering angels and crocheted snowflakes, attend a myriad of holiday parties, and sing in the choir’s cantata but do not focus on Christ, I have missed the point.

 Love stops the cooking to hug the child.  Love sets aside the decorating to kiss the husband.  Love is kind, though harried and tired.  Love doesn’t envy another home that has coordinated Christmas china and table linens.  Love doesn’t yell at the kids to get out of your way.  Love doesn’t give only to those who are able to give in return, but rejoices in giving to those who can’t.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.

Love never fails.

Video games will break; pearl necklaces will be lost; golf clubs will rust.  But giving the gift of love will endure.