Week Three of Advent: JOY, to the World

Luke 1:46-47, 49 KJV “And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord, And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name.”

Joy To The World!

We would like to think that during the Christmas season, joy would be a given. You’d go shopping for the holiday meals that you’ll prepare for the family, you’ll run into friends from church or school, exchange pleasantries and all will be right with the world. That is until the cashier goes to the intercom and announces over the loudspeaker “PRICE CHECK!” 

Suddenly your joyful experience takes a turn. The twenty people in line behind you all begin rolling their eyes, throwing their arms in the air, and grumbling about the stores' cashiers and service. Complaining along with anger has now overshadowed the season all because the stamp of a price fell off your top-of-the-line ham you were purchasing.

“Excuse me,” you whisper, “Can’t you price check in that little book of prices you have there?”

Through snapping gum the cashier barks, “No ma’am, these are new and not in the books yet.” She blows a bubble and it pops as if to say ‘this is all your fault for wanting to have a joyful experience’.

Now you yourself are becoming disgruntled. You just wanted to be prepared for when the family came rushing through the door with their red noses, gifts in hand and smiles on their faces on Christmas day. Looking back at the line behind you, there certainly is no smiles on those faces. The price arrives via a manager who has to personally tap in the code and she now decides to program the cash register for others who might be buying the same ham. 

By now the people are becoming vocal, all because you wanted a ham and a joyful experience on Christmas day. This is not Christmas day so you ever so slightly feel the anxiousness growing inside and are a bit angry that this has to happen NOW, not to the lady or man behind you but to you on your joyful shopping excursion. 

“Can we move it along now?” You tried not to sound snarky but the manager gave you a sword through the heart look.

“You’re the one who bought the ham lady,” she snapped back, obviously overworked and underpaid.

The cashier finished up, placed all your bags in the cart, now for the credit card to go through. A problem with the computer once again has the line grumbling and storming off to another crowded register while some stayed, unaffected by all of the bitterness going on around them. There they are you thought, the ones who really know what the joy of the season means.

The transaction finally goes through and you try to salvage some joy in the whole event after the cashier says, “Thank you and have a nice day. NEXT.” 

“Merry Christmas,” you say and it was as if you spit out a vulgar foreign language. 

“I don’t celebrate Christmas, NEXT!” She was now trying to shoo you out of her lane. Now it was YOU who were offended. What did she mean she doesn’t celebrate Christmas, how can someone NOT celebrate Christmas? You look around the store at all the flashing lights, filled to the brim shopping carts, kids running and screaming, and people with stress running down their faces. There was no joy in this flurry of expedient shopping. Joy was not here in the hustle and bustle of a crowded store with people last-minute Christmas shopping and missing the actual joy in what Christmas is all about.

Being aroused from your daydreaming, the young lady behind you with a small smiling child in the seat of the shopping cart with a few tv dinners and some baby food says, “Excuse me, ma’am,” as she tries to go around you, the daydreamer. 

You look at her. Her dark hair unkempt and a little scraggly, her coat weathered and worn. The smiling child with his puffy coat and stocking feet dangling through the holes looks at you with the brimming eyes of innocence.

You ask her, “Why did you stay in line with those few things in your cart?”

“I’m in no hurry,” she says, “I have food for another week, my son is happy, I have a roof over my head and shoes on my feet. There’s no reason to be hurried. He’s coming whether they like it or not.” She again tries to go around you.

You stop her. “Miss, I’d like to give you my cart full of food, is that okay?”

Tears brimmed her wide brown eyes, “Ma’am? You don’t have to...,” she went on to say tears now overflowing her eyes as you put your cart full of enough food for a family of eight in her hands.

You begin putting her little bit of food in your cart and offer to walk her to her car. She thanks you over and over again, placing her giggling child in your full cart. “God Bless you ma’am, God bless you, and Merry Christmas.” 

You begin daydreaming again amid the hustle and bustle realizing at that moment that finding joy in the season isn’t about the hurriedness, it isn’t about the blinking lights or the numerous expensive price tags on the gifts under the tree, joy isn’t even about the perfect family meal. Joy is about being content with what you have at that very moment, a roof over your head and shoes on your feet. And you know why? In a politically correct world trying to change CHRISTmas? HE IS COMING whether they like it or not! 

Startled by a bump in the now empty cart from a rushed shopper, you look for the young lady you gifted. She was nowhere to be found. Your face reddened and you smile feeling a rush of joy filling your heart once again knowing deep down, the reason for the season. He IS coming, whether they like it or not! 

Merry Christmas to ALL. May you find JOY in YOUR heart this Christmas season! 

Hebrews 13:2 (KJV) “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

Standing Strong

Prov. 24:10 "If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small."

Standing Strong 

Without even being aware of what tension would rise I thought a writing course would be a good soothing exercise. I thought wrong. I love writing for my blog as much as I can and it feels therapeutic. I’ve been moving along at a nice pace as healing is taking place. Feeling good about myself I wanted a distraction via a fiction-writing course from all the illness talk. I realized I don’t know how to separate my fact from fiction.

The writing course claims that you should have a completed fictional SHORT STORY by the end of six lessons. I’ve taken this course many times over the years so I knew what to expect, expect the unexpected I thought heading into the course. What I didn’t expect was a classroom of five to seven people working on their novels in progress. Writers are awesome people, as diverse as a bag of Skittles even more diverse when they’re mixed with a bag of M&M’s! 

I decided to center my SHORT STORY on Faith and Hope, characters of a fictional tale but too close to my nonfiction story for my taste. I realized I didn’t like writing fiction at all. I do have an entire novel sitting in my files untouched for years, still nestled in the first draft stages. I also have a couple of short stories in my files that I won’t take the time to send them through the rigors of being picked apart by critique. I did learn a lot this round of taking this course. Everything I taught at one time being a mentor was dismantled, I watched my work being shredded not guided in any way. I wound up rewriting my short story for a final revision and it lost all the poetic substance of the entire tale. To me, my story became do-do on a shoe.

Tension, that only I knew was taking place, began about the third week. I wanted to drop the course but I also really wanted to complete the beloved class where I originally met so many of my current dear friends thirteen years ago. I continued on being the trooper that I am until I finally completed the sixth lesson of my short story.

I wondered why I set myself up for this adversity but it’s not much unlike when I post something on facebook to get a reaction when it’s the reaction I don’t like, I tend to tense up completely. Why do I bother? That is exactly what I felt like by lesson six, why did I bother? Let me give you a bit of advice, when taking a trip down memory lane don’t expect the same sensation you felt originally. The memory is in the past for a reason, it is over and done with and cannot be recreated in any way, shape or form. Lesson learned.

I was taught that if you’re going to say something negative about someone’s work, reinforce it with something positive. I didn’t feel much of anything positive coming through my screen. The feeling may have just been my tension build-up and I, not wanting to continue, reflected the negativity I saw. In other words, it was more than likely just my irritated mind arousing the tension.

What did I learn from this session of the writing course? Anything goes. You can work on your novel in progress and you’ll receive pats on the back for defying what the true intention of the SHORT STORY course is about. You’ll be rewarded for going against the grain. You’ll be held accountable for not understanding proper punctuation and you might even feel shamed into taking a punctuation course so your writing can get better. Your words will be pulled apart like shredded cheese and tossed on the floor for you to pick up the pieces and put back together.

So basically my writing sucks. THIS is why I’m sticking to my blog writing! Fiction is not for me at this juncture in my life. Nonfiction writing whether misspelled or punctuated wrong on my blog is MY journal style writing that releases my tension and saves me days and weeks of unnecessary pressure. I thought I was ready for open criticism but I think I still have a way to go.

"Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds." 

~ Albert Einstein

Yesterday to release a ton of tension I went shopping. As anyone who knows me knows that I’m not a person who splurges on things. These past ten months my main purchases were vitamins, organic vegetables, three pairs of pants from the Goodwill and that’s about it. I’ve never acquired a taste for spending money. I wouldn’t say I’m a miser, I just like to purchase necessities over extravagances.

My mother sent me a Christmas gift back in October and she told me to buy myself something nice. You also know that my mother has no idea I’m fighting this illness. My first thought was to use the money in my fight of this disease but yesterday I woke, putting on my twenty-five-year-old winter shoes, I realized I never splurge and buy myself anything. With hubby off of work, I asked him if he wanted to go shopping and off we went. I bought two pairs of winter shoes/boots and eight nonfiction books all for sixty bucks! I’m a frugal shopper. Yay, me!

Shopping, reading nonfiction, and coloring in my adult-aged coloring books I received last Christmas released much of my tension. I am now once again on a recovering path. I think I’ll just stick to my journal style writing for a while. Just so you know, I’ve had diaries all of my life and not once did I concern myself with restructuring, grammar etiquette or revisions. I wrote to release tension and that is what I’m going to continue on my blog. Thanks for any and all understanding.

Prov. 19: 25 "Smite a scorner, and the simple will beware: and reprove one that hath understanding, and he will understand knowledge."

It Strikes Me...

Prov. 31:25 (NLT)“She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.” 

It strikes me…

Well, it hit me again, I was walking through Wal-Mart and it strikes me as odd at a number of people not even paying attention to what they’re buying. They just look, grab, and place the merchandise in the cart. Me, I’m scanning every label, reading every ingredient, more times than not replacing the product back on the shelf, even when it says organic.

Now that I know what I’m looking for at the store, it sure makes shopping much easier, because I can avoid the aisles with stuff I don’t need and if hubby wants something, he goes off on his own to get it without making me venture down the ‘toxic aisles’.

Then something hit me this week. I rounded the bakery section and was heading to the checkout and it caught my eye, a pink shirt with the decal on it ‘FIGHT FOR THE CURE’. As I got closer to the shirt, touched it, looked at the bold lettering and the pink ribbon, tears began to well up in my eyes, but I didn’t want to cry in Wal Mart. I knew what the shirt was saying, I knew all too well. 

You see, I always looked at those things and just became saddened for other women who fought, were fighting, or had lost someone. But for me? I never associated the pink with me. I never saw myself as a ‘one day that’ll be me’, no, I never let it cross my mind, I never grasped that straw.

And here I was gazing down at the pink shirt, touching the fabric, running my fingers over the letters and realizing it is me. That decal is referring to me. I’m one of them; one of the hundreds of thousands of women who this pink ribbon stands for. I felt small, I felt like an ant in the middle of the store with all the big humans passing by not seeing me carrying the heavy crumb. They were passing by not giving me a second glance. I was nothing on their radar. They were hurried and rushed and I stood there just looking at this shirt.

I let it go. I didn’t want the pink, I didn’t want to associate with what the shirt stood for. I in no way wanted any part of it. Just like the disease that is running through the very cells of my body, I don’t want any part of it. I seek normal, I just want what I deemed to be normal back and yet as I run my mind through the reality of it all, I have to let it go. Normal will never come back and this new lifestyle is the new normal for me. I have to accept that.

As we were driving home I asked my husband what the shirt said. My brain to me said FIGHT THE CURE, and my husband said no, it said fight FOR the cure. So as I held that pink shirt in my fingers, my mind was telling me a truth FIGHT THE CURE. That is my reality. THAT is the shirt I want to wear.

To me fighting FOR the cure could mean giving the oncologist their rights in filling innocent women with poisons. It is putting your support behind the victimization going on and treating everyone like little gathering ants. Give them a crumb here and there but don’t you dare give them wings! Ants can’t fly and by allowing them to think they can is going to start an entire new breed of ants! Fight FOR the cure could also mean that there has been no cure found. The oncologists give you pacifying drugs but chemo is in NO WAY the cure, so we women must FIGHT FOR THE CURE to be found.

And to me FIGHTING the CURE means just that, fight the very thing that doctors are feeding millions of women. Fight what truth they believe and set out to find your own leg to stand on. Fight everything they hold like poisons to be the ‘cure’. Because as I’ve learned over these past eight months, the doctors are only selling you what the pharmaceuticals are selling them. I could be 100% wrong, but again, all that I’ve learned in the past eight months tells me that I and thousands of other people are feeling the same thing I am and trusting their instincts and finding what works for them!

Our bodies were created with an immune system. That immune system is in place as a healing mechanism that the human body utilizes. To me, not trusting God’s creating abilities, is in a sense not trusting God at all. When you look at a DNA strand, do you realize how intricate that strand is and all it stands for? The strand is God in an intimate shower within you.

Hebrews 4:16, “Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.” (NIV)

When you were little, didn’t you come to depend and trust your father? You looked up to him and held him in the highest esteem and trust. When he told you something, you believed it to be true and to this day, I can almost guarantee you utter the words from time to time, “My daddy always said…”
Why would we think that our Heavenly Father is any different than ‘our daddy’? 

If truth be told. God is our daddy and we can trust Him as we walk. Just like your earthly father, He will never lead us down the wrong path. We’ll stumble, we’ll fall but he’ll see to it that his gentle loving hand lifts you back up and sets you on the right path again. We just have to trust Him like we trusted our daddy all of our lives. He did NOT give me this illness, that’s like saying he led down the wrong path like he made me destroy my body. Nope, we all know where sin comes from and my torturous life led me to this illness, not God. 

It strikes me as kind of odd that people put more trust in a human than the intricate, intimate Creator. Maybe it’s just me; maybe I’m the odd one. I separate myself from this disease so it doesn’t own me. I face the enemy with the Sword of Truth. I strike the lies before it strikes me!

James 4:8, “Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded.” (ESV)

My Realization

Some see an electric pole, I see a cross

2 Sam. 22:40 “For thou hast girded me with strength to battle: them that rose up against me hast thou subdued under me.”

The Realization

Well, I think I’ve discovered the reason for my ‘grumbles’ as some call it. It’s the realization that this is my new life and it isn’t going anywhere soon. Let me ask you, when you walk into a food store what’s the first thing you see? Food, right?  Now look at the food, all of it and think, I can’t have any. That is my new life. This is the source of my grumbles.

My new life consists of expensive foods that I probably shouldn’t even be eating. I’m cautious with every bite and every single purchase and hubby is always on the lookout for something I ‘might’ be able to eat. If it’s a fruit or vegetable, yippee, that’s me, but I’m human, I don’t like every fruit and vegetable on the market. But I'm willing to try those once disliked veggies.

I can’t eat processed food so the majority of boxed, canned and frozen foods are out of the question. The brown eggs hubby buys me are four dollars a dozen (sometimes on sale) and I go through a dozen a week. I go through two bags of seven-dollars-a bag of grapes a week, and strawberries I eat a lot of whether in season or out of season.

This is my reality. This is the realization that if I want to live, I cannot visit a fast food restaurant ever again. I can’t go to the new Dunkin Donuts that just opened up. Visiting a movie house would be as torturous as going food shopping, the aroma alone will eat me alive. Not that we visited any of these places often, but we had a choice. Now, my only choice is live or die. I look at every item on the shelf and painstakingly have to look at the ingredients. No soy, no wheat, that just about leaves me meat and dairy which is not allowed either, so yeah, that leaves cruciferous veggies, fruit (not all), and berries.

If you’re on a diet, you have a choice. You can cheat, you can go off your diet at any time, and honestly, you can look forward to your diet ending and going back to eating all the food you want. I myself, don’t have that choice. Again, my only choice in the matter is live or die! If I cheat, I am cheating myself of life and my willpower is too strong for that. I choose life, plain and simple.

I am not complaining, I am not grumbling, I’m letting you in on the realization that THIS is my new way of life. I do have a choice, I could live or I could die, quite simple choice, no? I choose life. Why grumble, why whine? Because the realization hits you in the face, that THIS is your new way of life! Let’s say you’re driving down the road and a Mack truck is heading straight for you, in that instant, you swerve to miss the head on collision. You chose to live, you chose to live with the realization of what plummeting into the ditch will cause.

I’m out here in the middle of nowhere building my strength. I go to the food store to see just how strong I am and I’m getting better! The first time I went food shopping, I left bawling my eyes out, the second and third time were a little better, but last time we left the food store we had to stop and get gas. Tears overflowed my eyes in silence. The pictures on the outside of the gas station were images of donuts. We sat next to a Buffalo Wild Wings, another new business I never had the chance to try. 

Surrounding me was a Burger King, an Applebee's restaurant where we had our wedding day meal, and then there was Wendy’s where I had my last meal from the outside world. The images and memories just poured in and my eyes reacted, my heart hurt and I cried. This is all a part of my healing too as I see how strong I am each day and just how much this little lady can take. 

Then there were the people hurrying out of the surrounding places with either a drink or food in their hand or lighting a cigarette. There were big people and little people, short people and tall people all with the same choice as me, to live or die, and my crazy mind is thinking that they are choosing a slow death over life. I can sit here and say it’s their life and I don’t care what they do but in all honesty, I DO care. I care very much whether people live or die. I can’t change their choices but I can hear their voices, and not one of them are saying, I WANT TO LIVE! 

You can say that this is me judging people but I say it is me observing people. I do care whether people live or die but it is not my CHOICE on what they choose in life. I, a little late in life, choose to live and this is the realization of my new way of living. 

2 Sam. 22:33  “God is my strength and power: and he maketh my way perfect.”