I learned Friday my white cell count has dipped dangerously low, because of the oral chemo I take daily (with one week off, out of every four). It’s hard to say no to hugs and handshakes, to avoid kids with runny noses and skip fresh fruits and veggies because they may be contaminated. Be my balance, Lord! On that note, here’s my thoughts written earlier this week:

It’s 10:15 am. Too early, you say, to savor a bit of dark chocolate. Yet here I am, indulging in its smoothness, lingering over each nibble. It’s a free trade product and 85 percent cacao, packed with cancer-fighting antioxidants. Its goodness comes directly from its darkness, not from gooey corn syrup or processed sugar.

Maybe its caffeine will spark my energy when I’d rather crawl back in bed. On low-energy days, my dog-eared books are like old friends – always welcome. A fellow recently returned Henri Nouwen’s The Way of the Heart, providing me with the opportunity to re-visit my margin notes and underlining in this little gem.

Nouwen says we need solitude, silence and prayer for a robust spiritual life. The word robust sounds like a robin with an overflowing heart, her red breast nearly bursting as she sings.

He quotes Vincent van Gogh, who wrote, “There may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it. . . the passerby only sees a wisp of smoke coming through the chimney. One must tend the inner fire, have salt in oneself, wait patiently … for when someone will come and sit down…” (The Way of the Heart p. 85)

Nouwen says our task is to faithfully care for the fire within so at the right time we can offer “warmth and light to lost travelers.” Like writing, fire-tending is often a solitary pursuit. The constant clatter of contemporary life lowers when I’m alone with God. In the silence, I’m more likely to hear His voice.

It’s His Spirit, bent down, that breathes life into the fire within. The more solitary time in God’s presence, the more warmth I pass on. God gives grace to open the door to those who most need the flames He stirs within.

A woman told me she knows all about me because of reading my column, but added lightheartedly I know nothing about her. After spending an evening together, I know her a bit better, but later I pondered the first part of her comment.

How much of myself do I give away? Is it wise to reveal my journey through this harrowing stretch? And, am I tending the inner fire with enough care to have something precious to share?

In Anti Cancer, A New Way of Life, David Servan-Schreiber, MD, PhD, says there is evidence that how we deal with social and psychological factors may impact if healthy people develop cancer and if people with advanced cancer survive (p.157). A dear friend arrived at my door one night with this hope-filled book and suggested we read it together. Her kindness is a gift all its own.

Many folks have reached out to us in amazing ways since our renewed battle with breast cancer. I say our battle because my hubby, family, church, friends and even strangers battle with me. My sister in State College said her neighbors, former Indiana residents, told her they’re praying. When I’m out to shop, to vote or wherever, others say they’re praying, too.

Thank you for every note, gift, kindness, word and prayer!

Although I never would have chosen this path, I messaged a former roommate who completed her breast cancer treatments to say I’m richer in this moment because of cancer’s unexpected return. The heart of God is compassion and I’ve received more than my share; all this love makes me passionate about extending compassion to others.

Still, the fire of my passion is modest, enough perhaps to keep us comfy within these walls, but flames of hope and courage could easily be smothered by negligence or worry. Only daily private time with my Lord ensures enough coals burning to make it through another night.

The goal of solitude is two-fold — to rest in the Lord’s strength, and to have enough coals when morning comes to carry some fire to my neighbor. In centuries past, Celtic women who burned peat dug out of the ground did just that, with loving concern for those who lived down the road.

Joy, at this juncture, often comes from unexpected sources. Little delights, like enjoying chocolate, have an accumulative impact. This is the most beautiful spring I can remember – I see God’s hand, everywhere. I was surprised to discover columbine I planted over 20 years ago has finally bloomed, with lovely drooping coral bells. If I’d given up and yanked the plants out, I would have missed their fragile beauty.

My cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy

will follow me

all the days of my life,

and I will dwell

in the house

of the Lord, forever.

All will be well.

Texting Thru Recovery/ Indiana Gazette