October Gold--and Rich in Hope!

"In the face of uncertainty, there is nothing wrong with hope." 

This is a quote I found in an old photo I had taken of a page of a book written by a doctor who learned to always give his patients hope. 

This is what my oncologist did for me in Rapid City this week.

Different than the oncologist in Colorado who assumed the worst and was only going to treat me with maintenance doses, this oncologist has a whole different attitude.

"I brought your case to my whole team," she said. "And since we do not have proof that the cancer is metastatic at this point, we are treating it as a locally advanced cancer. 

The treatment is harsh," she admitted. But it is for a purpose, and prescribed with hope.

Basically all the side effects I told her I was experiencing were to be expected. 

When she asked how I was, I did not tell her fine. 

I told her I was feeling awful. 

Because I figured I should be honest rather than polite when it comes to this cancer. 

The night before, Jonathan and I had taken an autumn drive toward Spearfish before staying overnight at friends. The aspen in a few places were as golden as they are in Colorado!

It was a gorgeous evening!

I just felt anything but gorgeous. I was in too much pain and feeling too weak and yucky to do much walking, but at least we could drive and get out a couple places for pictures. 

Someday maybe we can do the hike that goes down below these Spearfish Falls. At least we got to see it from the top.

The next morning before the doctor visit,  I went for my blood labs, which she said all looked great--even if I felt simply awful.

Secretly I wished something would have been wacko with my blood labs so I wouldn't have to have more chemo.

Instead, those particular blood tests are saying I'm fine.     

I decided I should be thankful.  

So I was.  

But it didn't help me feel better. I was having a lot of kidney pain. The doctor said it was actually probably musculo-skeletal pain from the drug I was injected with that stimulates white blood cells, but I decided to disagree. Just later. To myself.

Stabbing waves of pain across both kidneys I can't imagine is musculo-skeletal.

But who is to say?

Oncologists know things I don't.

Drugs do weird things.

After the doctor visit, Jonathan decided before driving home to take me first to see more autumn beauty at Sheridan Lake, about half an hour from Rapid City. As we started up the very long, steep climb out of Rapid City toward Keystone and Custer, I started remembering the identical climb fifty years ago.

Exactly 50 years ago to the month, my original Morley family was moving out here to South Dakota so we could home school. All nine of us (Joella and Kezia had not been born yet) were squeezed inside a station wagon pulling a heavy little U-Haul trailer with our only belongings in it. My dad didn't think we were going to make it up the hill out of Rapid City toward Custer but somehow we made it. 

We lived in Keystone one year and in Custer three years before moving on to Florida and then Pennsylvania again where it was finally legal to home school. 

Fifty years later, I am a missionary wife fighting chemo side effects, zooming easily along in our little Honda SUV.

Feeling a little nauseated (like morning sickness! :) and realizing I needed something to eat, we pulled over at the side of the road so I could pull something out of the cooler. The road where we pulled off happened to be named Busted Five Road. My dad had set up a business right there about 46 years ago, our last summer living in Custer, SD. We took old fashioned photos of people and Dad carved redwood name signs. That was a very busy but challenging and happy summer.

It was the summer I gave my heart to Jesus.

 I have mostly happy memories of living in South Dakota as a child, especially of exploring back behind our little house in the rocky hills and pines and aspen. We never had much money to our name, but we never went hungry. 

And now 50 years later, God is still faithful.

The day before I went to the doctor I had gone to a lymphatic therapist for a treatment to drain my struggling lymphs. 

My skin was tight and swollen and leathery and angry red. 

It seemed that the chemo had kicked cancer pain back only for a night, and then the pain and everything just had come back. The next few days I wondered if I had any hope at all except for worsening pain until I died. 

But then there was the lymph treatment.

In a matter of an hour, lymph had loosened from being stuck to my rib cage. 

By the next morning, the angry red color was lightening, and the pain was less. The improvement was palpable and visible both. 

And that treatment only cost us $85 versus the $30,000 bill estimate we were sent a couple weeks ago for a single day of chemos.

God had provided a little clinic with a doctor who knows something about helping women with breast cancer and helping them with lymph drainage so they can heal. 

After the doctor visit, despite the weakness and pain, I stood looking at the aspen leaves glowing with millions of golden coins and knew that with God in our lives, we are rich.

We have  hope.

"In the face of uncertainty, there is nothing wrong with hope." 

Roll Call for Our Veteran Friend

This morning before Jonathan left for work I asked him about our friend Faye's funeral which he and our pastor attended last night in Wanblee. While we've attended two Christian native funerals recently, this one was different in that our friend was a veteran. Right about now, she is being laid to rest in the Black Hills National Cemetery in Sturgis. 

Last night, an Episcopal "mother" officiated the service, complete with communion served including wine from a common cup! 

"None of us missionaries went up for it," Jonathan said. 

But it was interesting to him to observe typical native funeral customs (including one season of drums and wailing, Jonathan said, since relatives were not Christians). What was most special was that Faye received special honor as a veteran.

"There was a point in the funeral," Jonathan told me, "when all the veterans were asked to go to the back and sign their names in a roll book. Then they came back up front and lined up.

And then there was a roll call. 

The leader would call a name, and that veteran would salute and answer, "Here, Sir!"

The next one the same. 

At the end, Faye's name was called. "Jewel Faye Lemay."

No answer.

"Jewel Faye Lemay."

No answer.

For a third time, "Jewel Faye Lemay."

This time, Jonathan said, "someone in the back called out, 'She's been called Home."

As he told me this, Jonathan was tearing up. 

"All the veterans then went up and filed by Faye's casket, saluting her," he said.

And for a moment in our South Dakota kitchen, all I could think about was the song "When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder, I'll Be There." 

Faye was no longer answering the roll down here on earth. She had been called Home, and now she is answering to a heavenly Roll Call.

Sweet Faye, precious Jewel, my friend to whom I sang and quoted Scripture and tried to reassure her at the end that her sins were forgiven,

by God's grace I will meet you up Yonder.

"When the roll is called up yonder, I'll be there!"

She Heard Him Singing "When They Ring The Golden Bells for You and Me"

Yesterday I called my daughter Crystal while she was driving home from attending the funeral of our friend and former pastor, Dennis Goodwin. I figured while she was traveling she could fill me in on the happenings at a funeral that Jonathan and I and others in our family would have loved to attend had circumstances been different. Since we were stuck here in South Dakota with my first chemo treatments, I was happy that Crystal decided to go. While Crystal was teaching in Missouri, she had sometimes taken a dish of food or gone to help Mrs. Goodwin with cleaning or care for her husband, and she really wanted to attend the funeral and represent our family.

Pastor Goodwin had filled in at our church in Colorado for about a year and a half, and how our family came to love the Goodwins!  Linda Lee Goodwin taught the youth class and became close to our girls, remaining in touch with them by email and phone for years later.

Two things stood out to us about Bro. Goodwin--his delightful sense of humor and his rich bass voice. We never did get tired of hearing him sing.

So while I was going through about 6 hours of chemo infusions Thursday, Crystal was traveling, and my niece Susanna at the florist shop where she works was arranging a beautiful bouquet to be from our family in memory of Bro. Goodwin.  

And then yesterday Crystal filled me in on everything she could remember from the funeral, including how the two sons led the service with laughter and tears, having seemed to have inherited the same gift of humor that their dad had. 

But one special thing really stood out. At the very end of the service, a lady named Christy got up who had been a friend of the Goodwins for a long time. (She had actually been a classmate of my sister Joella and her husband Craig at Penn View Bible Institute.) She used to play the piano at the camp meeting where Bro. Goodwin used to be president, and she said how she and he shared the same birthday. On their birthdays, one or the other would call each other and say, "Happy birthday, birthday twin!"

Well, on the day Brother Goodwin died, Christy had no idea about it, and was going about her work in her kitchen when all of a sudden, she said she heard Bro. Goodwin's voice singing "Precious Lord, Take My Hand."

Startled, Christy thought, "I wonder what is up." So she texted Sis. Goodwin, to find out that Bro. Goodwin was worse than he had been in his battle with pneumonia. 

Christy went on with her day, but later in the evening, she suddenly heard Bro. Goodwin's voice again. 

This time he was singing, "When They Ring The Golden Bells for You and Me."

Only minutes later, Christy received the news that Bro. Goodwin had entered the gates of heaven--where surely the bells were ringing for the one who, through so  many years of suffering after his stroke, had faithfully trusted His Savior.

I was getting goosebumps as I listened.

While those close to Bro. Goodwin's bedside that evening were only observing unresponsiveness and the last breath of life, someone a distance away heard his voice singing.

As Christy told what God had allowed her to hear, Crystal said she didn't think there was a dry eye in the room!

Sometimes a person has to step back to hear what is really happening--the beautiful singing, the bells ringing, the joy, the triumph, the glory!  

We sometimes only hear the silences, the minor chords, the cacophony of suffering, trials, and death. 

But if we could just hear the beautiful music that God has prepared for those who love Him,

and in which each one can participate!

If we could only hear those golden bells ringing for you and me!

The Wig Lady--When You Can Have What You Want

The day after chemo, ready or not, I had three early appointments--a CT scan, an injection of something that is supposed to stimulate my bone marrow to produce white blood cells fast (since the chemo killed all of the WBC) and an appointment at the wig salon! Imagine Anna Lucas at the wig salon. I decided since a wig was offered free, I would accept the offer, even if I never wore the wig. You just never know. Maybe I will someday--if my bald scalp is not too uncomfortable. 

 

So here I was at the wig salon with a dear lady who did not mind me putting her name in my phone as the "Wig Lady." She is a volunteer at this cancer center, helping cancer patients find a wig that they like, choose free hats or scarves, and giving them tips on where to get eyebrow stencils (since eyebrows disappear, too, along with hair). How exciting to think about!

Just last week, when I washed my hair, I noticed how thick and lush it was, a result of all the supplements I've been downing for my cancer, including diatomaceous earth that is mostly silica. My hair is thicker and longer than it has been probably since I was young.

Just in time to go bye-bye. 

If that isn't a bummer.

My kind nurse at the hospital the day before had accepted without batting an eye my bringing my own ice cap and ice mitts in to keep my fingers and scalp cold, to try to help keep neuropathy from setting in. I'd heard an ice cap might help with hair loss, but I am not banking on that. The main thing was that I didn't want neuropathy. 

How glorious I looked sitting there in the wig salon with this tight cap on that I had to put on before testing any wigs!  

Any wig would look better than that. 

That must be why they have you put that on first! :) :)

Anyway, there I was trying on wigs. This one looked pretty close to my own hair, so this was Jonathan's and my first choice. 

I wanted to see what I would look like with this wig.

And this one was a little foolish of me.

(And I'm missing my glasses because I had to take my glasses off when she put the wig on, and this time I forgot to put them back on.)

It looked a little like the hairstyle my mom had when she was young. It was tempting to want to look young and carefree and curly and cute--something I am not!

Plus, as one son exclaimed, it was too short!

Guidelines in God's Word are that a woman's long hair is her glory, and that she ought not to cut her hair, I reminded myself.

In my flesh, this is the hair style I thought I looked the best in because of my thin face. I looked happy and carefree--and that is what I wanted.

But my flesh must constantly be in subordination to God's Word--even when it comes to wigs. 

His principles are more important than my fondest wishes--even the wish to look young and have pretty curls.

 

Then there was this one.  Too blond. Unlike me. 

Though who says you have to be you when it comes to wigs? You can choose whatever look you want.

For once in your life, you can choose what you want instead of what you have!

 Is that wrong?
I thought about that. I have never been really happy with my hair. Over and over I've had to learn to accept that I have what someone once called "dirty dishwater brown hair."

Not a pretty sound. 

Not a pretty brown. 

Just brown. 

Like dirty dishwater. 

And now it's gray like concrete clean-up water.  

But was I content with what God gave me? Now it's being taken away and I am looking at this in a different light.

Actually, I didn't want a wig with hair as long as mine right now. How could I make the wig hair like my own? I didn't want a wig in my way.

Plus there is a special problem with wigs, Mrs. Wig Lady told me. The hair is all synthetic (imported from China, she added for some reason) and it can catch fire very quickly.

 So be careful, she said, near your oven and if you're standing over a grill! The hair might melt, or you might catch on fire! 

Mrs. Wig Lady also had cupboards and racks full of hats that cancer survivors who know how to knit have knitted or crocheted for people like me.  She let me choose more than one. The cupboards seemed just as full as ever after I chose mine.

I'll probably just go with a hat. 

Because a wig can make you look however you want to look--no matter what other people think. 

And that's okay.

But it isn't real.

It isn't really me. 

And it might catch on fire. 

There are many things in life we may think we want.

Fantasies, dreams, desires, wigs, belongings, stuff--anything but what we have

and that God has given to us. 

And if we only knew it, how quickly they will go up in smoke, either now or in the hereafter. 

May I choose contentment with who God made me to be, 

dishwater-brown-hair-turned-gray and all,

rather than fantasizing about something different. 

So I think I'll go visit the Hat Lady! 

"Dignity"--the Beautiful Statue Along Our Way

I'm in the middle of my chemo infusions here in Rapid City, and just finished a conversation with the nurse who had brought in an ice pack to calm the itchy pain I was experiencing with the cancer. (Thank God for ice packs!) But as I'm here on this hospital bed surrounded by purse, journal, pillows, bags of stuff I brought and more bags of stuff the hospital provided, I want to write about this little stop Jonathan and I made last week on our way back from a medical appointment in Sioux Falls.

Along I-90 there is a rest stop where this beautiful statue had been erected only a few years ago.  Most modern art is anything but beautiful in my opinion, but this one is an exception. This one lives up to its simple name--"Dignity."

For a few minutes, Jonathan and I enjoyed the warmth of the sunshine (well, at least I enjoyed it. It was probably too hot for him that day!) and the bit of breeze in sight of the river. 

That blue river reflecting the sky that day, crossed by the white bridges.

'

Three flags hung nearby, the American flag, a POW flag, and a state flag, with a sea gull soaring above. 

 

Every day I kept wondering how much longer I could enjoy life--smell the roses that were still blooming at the clinic where I got an IV C infusion and where Jonathan finally got a chiropractic adjustment that actually put a bone or muscle back in place and corrected the awful pain he'd been dealing with, which only got worse after a visit to a chiropractor closer to home.  

How much longer could I enjoy the sunshine without nausea, or push back a wisp of my own hair?

I didn't know, but I know that Jesus said I am not to worry about tomorrow, for my heavenly Father knows what things I have need of. 

He Who clothed the lilies and roses with such gorgeous colors can clothe me--even when I huddle under covers in the cancer center.

And He can provide food--even though I am choosing to face chemo fasting because fasting puts my healthy cells into a self-preservation mode which helps protect them from the dangers of chemo while the abnormal cancer cells will eat up the chemo and hopefully die a grisly death.

I just read last night an article about how patients who fasted except in the evenings the day before, the day of, and the day after chemo, had a significant reduction in side effects compared to the ones who ate whenever they wanted.  So then and there I decided to give up something I wanted in the present in order to have a reduction of side effects. 

At least that is the hope!

So there I am, standing at the feet of Miss Dignity with her beautiful native garb, surrounded by a star quilt with quilt blocks that flutter in the wind like aspen leaves,

(so unlike me right now, huddling under white sheets!)

but that statue, reminding me of the beautiful native women I've come here to South Dakota to minister to--

women who have value and beauty and worth. 

One of them is my new friend Lila, who called me the day after we visited this statue to let me know that our Christian friend Faye had passed away, and the family was asking her to come. Since she had no vehicle, could I take her?

I did, staying with her for most of a few hours with the family while Pastor Keith Lavery and his wife Tasbah and Jonathan came to pray with the family and then staying on after they left, so Lila and I could still be there with the family while the undertaker arrived.

My friend Faye was so frail at the end, so helpless, so curled up. But now, like "Dignity," while her earthly body was being wheeled out on a gurney to the undertaker's vehicle, I can envision her new body rising up in dignity like this statue, surrounded with the beautiful quilt of God's making!

Faye--now in heaven, and Lila--my beautiful native friend who is there for her people when there is a need--stand out as two examples of dignity in this broken and miserable world. 

Freeze-dried Raspberries and Tasting that the Lord is Good

 My brother Fain and his wife Regina freeze-dried  a whole boxful of fruits and vegetables to send with the Labor Day team that came to help us. I have been so grateful especially for the raspberries which I eat with my cottage cheese and flax oil each day. The dried berries are a small, tasty treat.

These last few days before chemo I am remembering to enjoy good tastes a little extra, as tastes change while taking chemo. Does anything taste good with chemo happening?

I don't know.  But long ago I made a decision to live for Christ, and not for other things, including food. 

My taste buds should not be my master.

Instead I should be in control of my appetite--at least so far as I am able.

When I can't enjoy eating, maybe I can enjoy touching soft blankets or seeing beautiful scenes...

Like this one with hay bales all lined up in a mowed field. 

I do not have to shrivel up and die like the yellow-breasted meadowlark I found along the road on my way to the mailbox recently--

just because I can't enjoy my favorite foods anymore.

 

I do pray that I will continue to be able to write. This book is the proof for my newest book that is preparing to be printed and published in the next few weeks. I understand that last night during the debate, vice-presidential can did ate Walz was asked about his claim to be in Hong Kong during the famous--or rather infamous--Tia nan men Mass acre in 1989. 

This book tells of how my next younger brother and I actually were in  C h i n a  on that fateful day--with a team that had gone with a purpose. 

So I hope I can continue to write these stories, even if I am nauseated, even if I can hardly stand to swallow my pills, even if I feel terrible. 

But if not, if not, I will still love You, Lord.

When I was twelve years old, I gave You everything.

And that included taste buds and chemo treatments. 

But oh, I have tasted and seen that You, Lord, are so good. 

Blessed is the man who trusts in You!

 

 

Apples--and Spare Moments

 Last week I took ten pounds of apples along on the long trip to Sioux Falls so that I could peel and chop them when it was Jonathan's turn to drive. With our friend Faye about to cross the line of worlds and Sunday church meals coming up, I knew it would be nice to have chopped apples for apple cakes.

As we drove the many miles, I was peeling and chopping and bagging and thinking about the question a sister recently brought up. 

"How do you get so much done?"

Well, I am seldom idle (although at the cancer clinic I was told that I need to relax more, and take time to breathe, meditate, and enjoy), and I try to make use of any "spare" minutes. If I'm in between tasks or on the phone, I'm looking for something to do that is mindless, such as clearing the dish drainer, wiping a counter, or taking down laundry. If I'm traveling many miles, I take along something to do--newsletters to fold and stamp, a laptop so I can blog, a skirt hem to mend, or apples to cut up! Or if I'm awake at night, I often slip to the computer to edit stories or blog--like tonight. I've been in too much pain to sleep.

At home I delegate. Each person in the household has his own tasks. 

Maybe I get a lot done because I don't do it all!

Just because a person is a mom does not mean she has to be a martyr. Instead of complaining about how much I have to do, I delegate and thus can manage the home joyfully--at least most of the time.

It's totally okay to expect and teach the children to take turns making meals, doing the dishes, and cleaning parts of the house. 

Sundays I even ask Jonathan and Danny to pitch in with a task or two in the kitchen.

I am blessed to have a family that pitches together to make things happen.

Recently Crystal made pear tart after we had been invited to pick pears up at the neighbor. 

Another day she made rolls and chicken salad for me to take up to the family of a friend who passed away Thursday.  I spent hours with that family, including being there with another Christian friend with them while the undertaker came. 

And then afterward at home when I was just wandering about the house for a moment, I realized I wouldn't be able to focus on much for a while, so I put together a chili for my Christian friend I had just been with, whose one-bedroom home was full of unexpected company--a daughter who had just broken her foot and was laid up in bed while four big grandchildren are there while that foot heals. 

The same lady has to care for neighbors on either side of her, and a relation had arrived saying his mom kicked him out. 

I can't fix the situation, but I can lift my friend's load a little by taking chili and apple cake and promising that Jonathan and I will be up later to take a look at her jeep that hasn't been running. 

Just another of those spare moments filled with apples--and love.