breast cancer – Texting Thru Recovery

Learning to reside in the mundane

June 8, 2019June 9, 2019
by Jan Woodard

I love the Lord! He heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy. He turned his ear to me, I’ll call on him as long as I live. (Psalm 116:1-2 NIV, adapted)

I wish everyone with cancer heard what my breast cancer specialist said at my last appointment. I asked if I’m a candidate for any experimental trial therapies and he replied, “You’re way too healthy for that!”

He said they have patients who’ve been on my daily chemo for as long as two years.

“And then what?” Jim asked, because we both overthink everything.

“We have lots of options!”

I left McGee’s Cancer Center feeling like I could breathe again.

Our God is full of compassion. The Lord protects the unwary; when I was brought low, he saved me. (116:5b-6)

There’s also good news about my white cell count, which fights germs. Although it has dropped into the hazardous zone, white cells called neutrophils are only mildly low. One doctor told me my “super white cells must be strong.” I didn’t ask what that means but told her prayer has a lot to do with my doing so well.

Return to your rest, my soul, for the Lord has been good to you. For you, Lord, have delivered me from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before you in the land of the living. (116:8-9 adapted)

L. R. Knost was abused as a girl, lost a son, battles cancer and authors Gentle Parenting books. She writes out of her own anguish and abiding peace: “Life is amazing…and then it’s awful. And then it’s amazing again…and in between the amazing and the awful it is ordinary and mundane and routine. Breathe in the amazing…hold on through the awful…and relax and exhale during the ordinary. That’s just living. Heartbreaking…soul-healing…amazing…awful…ordinary life. And it’s breathtakingly beautiful!” (goodreads.com)

Amazing. Awful. Ordinary. Beautiful. To express what it means to find beauty in the mundane, consider the liturgical church calendar. Along with holy seasons, most of the year is comprised of Ordinary Time that holds a sense of the Divine simply because all time is a gift from God.

Mary Ann, a writing friend, posted: “Right after I retired, I was hit by sciatica in my left leg. It was only . . . when I first got up. By mid morning, I almost forgot about it and I could still go to the gym, take a long walk, garden. In the big scheme of medical problems, sciatica is not at the top of the list. Still, there was much pain in that first hour of the day. For reasons I’m not sure of, the problem disappeared about two weeks ago. And so yesterday I got up at 7 a.m., went downstairs, fed two hungry cats, made coffee, fried eggs, all without any pain. No big deal maybe but I say now that each day is a gift.”

I know what it’s like to wake up with pain. People with serious issues would give anything for ordinary days that are no big deal. Days when their souls find rest, as the psalmist says. Fatigue is one of my biggest challenges. Some days require extra energy but create memories worth the effort.

Last weekend we invited our grandboys for Nature Palooza at Blue Spruce Park. Josiah caught four blue gill, thanks to Grandpa’s assistance, and two more when we returned Sunday afternoon. Who knew cicada make good bait! Horseback riding, snakes, petting a crocodile – what more could a boy ask?

“It was a blast!” Eli said. My sentiments, exactly.

I’m not entirely sure why I’m the one with abundant hope right now. Many people who suffer have others who pray. Dan, a friend who died from cancer this week, reminds me that easy answers fade in the face of the eternal.

Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints. (116:15)

Living with hope while living with cancer doesn’t mean I’m never afraid –it stretches my faith to trust deeply. I messaged a former co-worker who was having a biopsy that it’s normal to feel scared. Step by step, prayer by prayer, we stumble into ways to live today and place tomorrow in God’s hands. Even so, by nightfall I feel like a drooping peony, still fragrant but with a few less petals.

Paul Tripp is credited with saying, “If God doesn’t rule your mundane, then he doesn’t rule you. Because that’s where you live.” (pinterest.com)

I respond with an overflowing heart, like the psalmist, What shall I return to the Lord for all his goodness to me? I’ll lift up the cup of salvation and call on his name.” (116:12-13, adapted)

Sweet Jesus, be near to all who call to You, this ordinary day.

All will be well.

Texting Thru Recovery/Indiana Gazette

Thanks to Anthony Frazier for the use of two of his photos.

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Stronger than the Storm

May 18, 2019May 18, 2019
by Jan Woodard

Former neighbor Candy gave me a leather bracelet with BE STRONGER THAN THE STORM engraved on a metal plate. It tells me that my friend, caught in her own whirlwind, stands with me. Many do. Beyond this sphere, the Three-in-One hold me close when my world tilts upside down.

Friend to friend: “We all go through storms. Good to know God’s got this!”

Praise You, Creator God.

Praise You, Redeemer Jesus.

Praise You, Sustainer Spirit.

Entwined together, we’re stronger than the storm. Right now for me, the skies are clearing. My breast cancer antigens continue to drop – another 62 points – which is great. I’m largely able to keep on with things that in former times I took for granted.

Out the window, a doe-gray cardinal with her bright orange beak and red tail feathers pecks at the feeder. She tilts her head from side to side, considering what to do next.

I’m a lot like her.

I peck at bits and pieces of life, unsure what I most want to do with this precious gift of time, beginning with how to spend the singular gift of a sunny May afternoon.

Fatigue is one my biggest hurdles. Do I huddle in a shaded bedroom and snooze? Read one of the books piled by my chair? Or take a walk and catch the scent of honeysuckle in the air?

At a Bible study, Pastor Scott at Divine Destiny discussed Jesus’ parable about two builders. Sounds like one fellow was in a rush or lazy, he settled for constructing his house upon shifting sands. When rain fell and winds blew, it crumbled and great was its fall. I shiver at that phrase – deadly hurricanes, mud slides, and homes slipping into the sea come to mind.

The other homeowner dug deep and built upon a solid foundation. When the rains fell and winds blew, it withstood the tempest. Both builders heard the same Word, but responded differently.

To endure crises, I need to hear and heed the Word. Although Jesus is my Rock and foundation, often I, like the first builder, settle for less than God’s best. My pastor said sin is an archery term that means missing the mark. One way or another, I miss the mark every day, yet by His grace, guilt and condemnation don’t batter me.

There is no condemnation for those are in Christ Jesus.

Natalie Glaser of Indiana wrote a wonderful book about her cancer journey, Don’t Call Me Brave; I was not alone. I know what my friend means, even though I sometimes feel alone. Waves of anxiety are most likely to strike when evening fades into night, especially if no one is around except the dog.

At the new Sunday night service at Grace Church, youth director Drew Whaley spoke about storms. I was glad the lights were low; my eyes stung as he spoke. I wanted to race out of Fellowship Hall, run away from a God who sometimes allows us to walk through storms and, in the process, help guide others through the dark.

The Bible is full of stories like that. Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego stories, where followers of the Lord God Most High went through fire. They were certainly not alone. Jesus stood with them through suffering and persecution. To survive, we all best set our eyes on Jesus, not on gales raging within and without.

*****

I look at the clock. I need to leave in an hour for a haircut. (My hair’s still growing, despite chemo. Praise the God who counts our hairs.) It’s time to set this blog aside, stash piles of laundry, and chose stuff to donate to St. Vincent dePaul. Maybe there’s even time to pull a few weeds.

Thank You Lord, for work and the energy and strength to accomplish it. This is a good day.

*****

Sometimes I give away cherished gifts, like the plush throw my son gave me. A pottery mug from a cousin that spoke stillness into my mornings. The blue and white tea set my twin sister presented me on our fiftieth birthday. Giving away treasured objects spreads the joy, enlarging the circle of love.

I wore the leather bracelet with its engraved message from Candy daily, taking comfort in its message and its connection to a dear friend. Then one evening a brave mom hugged me. I knew I had to slip it onto her wrist. She’s going through parenting storms I’ve already weathered; it will remind her that she’s not alone, that she will make it to the other side, that friends stand with her.

And the Three-in-One.

Thank You, Creator God.

Thank You, Redeemer Jesus.

Thank You, Sustainer Spirit.

Together, we’re stronger than the storm.

All will be well.

Texting Thru Recovery/Indiana Gazette

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A Leper’s Story, & Mine

May 11, 2019June 12, 2019
by Jan Woodard

A trembling leper came to Jesus. Imagine some raggedy outcast daring to speak to this amazing Rabbi. People said He healed everyone, without exception.

But will He heal me? the man wondered, then did what we’d all do in Christ’s presence– fell on his knees.

“If You want, Jesus, You can make me whole.”

“I want to! Be clean.”

I love this guy’s courage! Weary from a life condemned to living with lepers, forced to wear filthy clothes, he was required to cry out to anyone approaching, “Leper! Leper!”

And I love Christ’s response: Of course I want to!

Hear His unwavering voice, see the fire in His eyes, looking on this beloved child of God. Jesus broke every law in the book when He reached out and touched someone with a numbing, flesh-destroying disease.

And the man was healed.

Does Christ still do this, today?

If He’s the same yesterday, today and forever, He does. The Unchanging One bore all our dirt, grief and sorrow, so we could be whole in body, soul and spirit. There’s no record of His turning a single hurting person away, whatever tumor, tick or tremor they bore.

I read the leper’s story in the book of Luke, written by a physician. I’m reading through Luke’s gospel, noting all the healings he describes. Churches often skirt around this question: is Jesus willing to extend to us what He offered the leper?

*****

Lilies of the Valley, a fragrant centerpiece from the
Clymer CMA folks when I shared my story at Hoss’s

I’ve shared glimpses of God’s grace with a few audiences recently; this blog is for friends who said they were sorry to miss it. I view what’s happening to me the only way I know how, through a kaleidoscope of faith. The leper’s story and the questions it stirs seem a good way to start.

After I completed radical treatments to remove breast cancer in 2017, I began daily hormone therapy. I called them my anti-cancer pills. They didn’t work.

This February, I thought I had a UTI. An antibiotic didn’t help. Aching pain increased to where I struggled to walk and needed Jim’s help to get out of bed or a chair. I thought it must be kidney stones, They hurt a lot, right?

On a Sunday evening in early March I sat in my living room, reading the results of a CAT scan, unable to comprehend what it said, medical jargon describing lesions in my liver and pelvic bone. And my pain? It was from a fracture of my sacrum caused by tumors.

Emotionally devastated, my sweet Jim and I wept in each other’s arms. Then we responded to an invite to Divine Destiny Church, where they happened to be teaching on divine healing.

What are the chances of that?

People surrounded us, laid hands upon us, prayed for us. Someone prayed to Jehovah Rohpe, the God who heals all our diseases. I learned this Hebrew name in a song some 40 years ago at Bobbie Yagel’s Bible study at Graystone church. It has run through my brain, ever since.
(https://genius.com/Don-moen-i-am-the-god-that-healeth-thee-lyrics )

More tests showed more lesions. I try to focus on the peace of Jesus. Sometimes I do that better than others. So many folks stand with us, but at moments I feel numb and distant, like a leper must feel.

We have a great cancer center a few miles from home where I usually go for treatments. A friend with advanced breast cancer helped me get in to see her doctor in Pittsburgh for a second opinion. He’s one of the best oncologists for metastatic breast cancer, anywhere.

He said, “I think we have a chance of beating this thing!”

I said, “Can we start today?”

“I don’t know why not!”

What are the chances of that?

My pastor asks, what are the chances I’d see the best doc in the country 12 days after learning cancer is messing with me? What are the chances that our kids living in New Zealand would move to Pittsburgh right when we need family close?

There is something bigger than chance at work, here.

My fracture is healing. I push myself to keep active. I returned the wheelchair we borrowed from Calvary Presbyterian Church, myself. Somebody else may need it; I don’t.

Some say I’m an optimist. I say I’m a beloved child of God, like that leper. Jesus says we’re all worth dying for.

You can’t talk about healing without doubts filling the air. We don’t always see physical healing result when we pray, but that doesn’t mean we stop praying. A life verse of mine, Romans 8:28, says all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to His purposes.

All things.

Sometimes, that has to be enough.

People say, “Jan, you’ve got this!”

Really, I don’t. But God is bigger than cancer. The Unchanging One has this.

All will be well.

Texting Thru Recovery/Indiana Gazette 5-11-19

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Grounded in blessings: in good times and bad

March 23, 2019June 12, 2019
by Jan Woodard

I’m a blessed woman.

Love covers me.

Prayers lift me.

Faith sustains me.

Messages encourage me.

Friends help me.

Family embraces me.

Blessed, covered, lifted, encouraged, sustained, helped, embraced . . .

It well with my soul.

And now, God has given me another African “daughter.”

A Ugandan graduate student, Jhanet sat with me on our sofa and we hugged. Still on chemotherapy for another year, she wears a soft white turban that contrasts with her glowing face. We met through IRMC’s breast cancer support group, last fall and both believe we were destined to meet. She was with me on St. Patrick’s Day as I read a lab report. It said the findings were consistent with advanced breast cancer; a woman of profound faith, she responded, “Whose report do you believe?” (See Luke 10:17-19)

A month ago I waited and prayed as she underwent a double mastectomy. Renewed in health and strength, it’s her turn to wrap me in kindness. I’ll be telling more of her story in coming weeks.

Jhanet: “‘It is Well with My Soul’ is my song for you, Jan. Don’t worry too much, worry robs us of our Joy. Leave it all to God.”

Me: “I love this song, you should hear my husband sing it!”

She had no way of knowing Jim sang this old hymn at a laity service only hours after his beloved father’s memorial service. He didn’t allow grief to hinder him; rather, it enriched his singing.

Following a tumultuous morning of calls with various offices that left me in tears, my soul quiets down and I hum, “It is well. . .”

My body, unfortunately is not in cooperation mode. For folks who would like to know what’s happening with me medically since a diagnosis of advanced breast cancer, I’ll make updated posts that I’m calling “What’s Happening” here at janwoodard.com. I followed a nudge to create this site a few weeks before cancer bounded out of the shadows and now it will be handy tool for staying in touch.

I’ve gone through a plethora of medical appointments and tests; God willing, a treatment plan will soon be in place. Jim, as always, is by my side. We listen to professionals who glance at computer screens that spew cold facts we don’t like or fully grasp; we understand enough to know this is life-changing. Our Julie has been with us through this week – cooking, comforting, attending, and helping me give away clothes and books I’ve wanted to pass along.

Most days I have a surprising sense of calm. This, I assure you, is not my native response to a crisis (just ask my kids). Prayers get all the credit. They lift my mind to higher places. God says through Isaiah, “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so My ways are higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts.”

When I feel as fragile as a glass angel, when fear tries to strangle my peace, I recognize I have choices. I choose, with the Spirit’s help, to stay grounded in my faith, which tells me Jesus bore this for me. Nothing can harm me in an eternal way.

My job is to guard my heart. A friend of my twin sister messaged me Proverbs 4:23: “Keep you heart with all diligence, for from it flows the springs of life.”

Our nephew Shawn & his son, Joe
at our Naples NY spring

I’ve tasted and bathed in refreshing spring water at our family cabin. (That’s our great nephew, Joe & his Daddy, Shawn, in the pics) Sparkling clear water there is the result of an underground stream tumbling through a sieve of glacial rocks beneath a wooded hillside. Many stop daily and take their fill. Where it originates, I’m not sure. I’m humbled by the sieve of life’s rocky circumstances, trusting the results make others thirst for my Source.

Our grandsons Josiah and Eli were baptized and welcomed into God’s family at Nassau Presbyterian Church in Princeton. Both reached out with tiny hands to splash and play in the waters of their baptism, relishing God’s blessings. Think of Jesus at another happy event, turning water into wine for a wedding couple and their guests, demonstrating in a concrete way the essence of His celebratory, blessed life. Ultimately, the way Jesus celebrated and restored life and dignity to “the least of these” led to His cross.

Pensively, I wonder how I’ll see His hand of mercy in days to come. What I know is that we have a miracle-working God who says, “Is anything too hard for me?”

If nothing is too hard for Him, than nothing—not even this—is too hard for me.

All will be well.

(Texting Thru Recovery/Indiana Gazette)