Good News!

The radiologist called me today and let me know that Monday's biopsy was benign. He said the quality of the samples was excellent, and he is "confident that it is not cancer." 

The site has been marked and will be followed closely on future mammograms.

Thank the Lord! Thank you, everyone, for your love and prayers. 

My Long Lost Brother

A week or two ago, I took leftover spaghetti sauce to work for lunch. I had no noodles left because I usually only make enough for a single meal; the gluten-free noodles don't hold up very well in the refrigerator. Briefly, I contemplated taking the dry noodles and a small pot to cook them in on the full-sized stove in the break room. I'd never seen anyone cooking anything on that stove, only reheating meals in the five microwave ovens. To my knowledge, I'm the only one who uses the toaster/convection oven (because I don't trust microwave radiation).

I decided the stove was probably there for potluck lunches, and if anyone saw me cooking on it, they'd think I was weird. Had I known everyone better, I wouldn't have cared what they thought. Indeed, at my previous office job, I had occasionally cooked my dinner in a slow cooker under my desk. My coworkers had laughed at my eccentricity and ribbed me mercilessly, but I didn't mind. No one was laughing when the tempting aromas wafted through our quad of cubes and into the surrounding ones. One after another, my coworkers commented on how amazing it smelled. "Yep!" I agreed smugly. "Nope," I replied when they asked for a taste.

After chuckling over those fond memories, I decided I'd better make my noodles on my own stove while I cooked oatmeal for my breakfast. For most of my four years at this job, I've been fully remote, and now I only go to the office on Mondays and Fridays. Therefore, very few people in the office know anything about me, let alone about all of my quirks. I don't know why it should seem weird to cook at work, but I'm too conventional to rock the boat. Today, however, I learned that some people dare to defy cooking conventions. 

Blessing in Their Hands

The breast biopsy that I wrote about in my last post had to be postponed due to a problem with insurance approval. I didn't find out about it until nearly 5:00 last Monday, on the night before the scheduled procedure. I spent Tuesday morning on the phone with the doctor's office and the hospital trying to cut through the red tape. The hospital scheduler tried from her end as well, but we had to admit defeat about 45 minutes before my appointment time. 

At first, the scheduler said I'd have to wait until December 21 for the next available appointment, which put my total waiting time at 7 weeks from the date of my repeat mammogram. While we were on the phone, though, an opening came up for yesterday, December 4. 

I arrived at the hospital at 11:58, two whole minutes early, only to find a sign on the door stating that the staff were off for lunch until 12:45. Mystified, I sat down in the hospital lobby and laboriously logged in to the patient portal on my ailing phone. It turns out that I'd read the instructions incorrectly, and I was actually supposed to arrive at 12:45. At first I was aggravated with myself, but then I decided to go buy some Tylenol, which I would need after the procedure. 

Then I spent a relaxing 20 minutes in the car listening to an audiobook, only to realize that I'd gotten confused again, and now I was late!

I arrived at the desk, breathless and apologetic, at 12:52. The receptionist was very gracious, but I felt pretty frazzled. In the waiting room, I settled myself with some deep breathing and silent prayer. 

Safe and Secure

If you've been reading long, you know that I struggle with worrying. I like to think I've made some progress with that over the years, but maybe not. 

If you are a fellow worrier, you understand that worrying itself can engender more worrying. For example, during both of my pregnancies, I worried more about worrying than about the actual object of my worries. I'd read that the mother's emotional state can affect the temperament of the growing baby, so I tried my very hardest not to worry about anything. But of course that was virtually impossible, so every time I caught myself worrying, I would scold myself and launch into even more worrying about worrying. 

I'm sure I'm not the only one to ever worry about worrying, but I wonder if anyone else has taken worrying to an even higher (lower?) level. Have you ever worried about... not worrying? 

Eternal Beauty

Recently I was reflecting on how dry I have felt spiritually, wondering why I don't seem to hear God's voice as much as I did in the past. It must be because because I'm always so busy with day-to-day responsibilities that I don't have much time to be still, let alone think about anything eternal.

This morning, God reminded me that He still speaks. 

After sleeping in until nearly nine, I fed the pets--four of them now; I'll have to tell you about that another day. I poured my sister Amy a bowl of cereal, put in a load of laundry, and walked across the park to meditate on my scripture memory cards. By now it was nearly ten, and it was shockingly hot. I hadn't even made it out of the cul-de-sac before the sun beating on my back nearly made me rethink my decision. The house was a wreck, and there was plenty I could be doing in the air conditioning, but I pressed on. 

When I reached the big circle in the middle of the park, I hesitated in the shade on the path. I looked to my right, where I'd planned to go. That way leads to my favorite part of the park, where the path ends in a little loop overhung with giant trees. I'd had a lovely time studying my scriptures at a picnic table there the week before. Surveying the path, I realized there were zero trees shading the path as far as I could see.

To my left, the other picnic table where I've often meditated on my scriptures was sitting in full sun. That would not be an option. Then I gazed across the soccer field to the playground, half full of energetic children. Next to that was the basketball court, where a few teenagers were shooting baskets. The picnic tables over there were in full shade, but I craved silence. I sighed, poised to return home. 

No! I wanted to study my scriptures, and I wanted to do it surrounded by green trees and grass and blue skies, not dirty laundry. As soon as I set foot on the big circular sidewalk leading to the playground, the sun beat down on me mercilessly. The soccer field was empty at this hour, so I made a sudden left and cut across the grass.

Sweat was just beginning to trickle down my back when I reached the shade next to the playground. I settled onto one of the picnic table benches and pulled out a stack of cards. Immediately, a little red spider crawled onto my hand. I crushed it without a thought, then felt bad. Keeping my eyes on the little business cards where I have copied perhaps 20 precious memory passages that God has given me over the last couple of decades, I tried to imagine that I was alone.

I whispered verse after verse to myself, marveling that I hardly needed to glance at the cards even though I often go months without pulling them out to refresh my memory. The familiar, beloved words filled my mind and heart as the voices of children and teenagers receded out of my consciousness. A cool breeze lifted my hair, and I smiled. "Thank you," I whispered.

One thing that I couldn't block out was the parade of spiders that crawled over my hands, my legs, my phone, and the little black bag where I keep the scripture cards. I carefully knocked each one away. The only other thing that I smashed was a fire ant that bit my calf. 

After about 20 minutes, I'd had all of the spiders I could take, so I stacked my cards and stowed them in the bag, inspecting for wayward critters before I fastened the Velcro. Considering my options for returning home, I decided to walk away from the big circle and over the other bridge, hoping there might be more shade on that path. 

As I crossed the bridge, I noticed two hand-painted plaques leaning against the low concrete wall, each decorated with random embellishments such as angels and rainbows. "Add a painted stone," the first said. The second said, "To see how long I can get." What on earth was that supposed to mean?

Then my eyes moved lower, to a line of painted stones that extended all the way down the wall and partway down the path. There were humble colored rocks in every color, along with elaborately decorated stones with googly eyes and glitter. How wonderful, I thought. I don't know why, but that crooked line of painted stones really moved me. One person, probably a child, had made a sweet gesture and invited others to do the same... and they had answered the call. 

I looked back and forth down the line of stones and took it all into my heart, a smile stretching across my face, the hot sun momentarily forgotten.

As I cut across the Frisbee golf course under the shade of two giant trees, I opened my mouth and let the joy bubble out. "Thank you for putting beauty in the heart of man," I whispered. A Bible verse tickled the back of my mind, just out of reach. Beauty in the heart of man.... Or was it eternity in the heart of man? Maybe it was both, I decided. God set the beauty of eternity in the heart of man, so that we could look up from the darkness around us and the tedium of everyday life and take pleasure in all the little joys around us, so that we could find beauty and make beauty, and we could do it together. 

On the short walk home, I thanked God for the painted rocks, the shade, the breeze, the scriptures, and even for the labor unions who gifted us with weekends. Back at the house, I measured out 12 grams of coffee beans and poured them in my little hand grinder, mixing in some vanilla flavored chicory. I only drink one cup of coffee a week, which is one cup more than my doctor wants me to have. That makes it extra special. I let the coffee steep for four minutes in the French press and then pressed the plunger down.

Turning my back on the dirty dishes, I carried the coffee to my room and plunked down in my favorite easy chair. I read my Jesus Calling devotional, which never gets old even though I'm now on my third year of daily readings. Next, I wrote three pages of increasingly messy cursive in my gratitude journal; I've been making myself write in cursive for the last several weeks because I don't like to think that cursive is a dying art, and also because I've read that it's good for the brain. In any case, I don't like my sloppy writing, but it does get easier the more I do it. 

After all that gratitude, my chores were calling to me, but then I remembered that I'd been unable to complete an entry in my latest Write the Word journal a couple of days before because my pen had run out of ink. My work could wait a few more minutes, I decided. I flipped to the page marked with a ribbon and then wrinkled my forehead in confusion. The date of the entry was May 8, 2021. Oh, this was the wrong journal. It was the first of my three Write the Word journals, a gift from my boss a couple of years ago. 

Since the book was in my hands, I decided to read an old entry. I love looking back on old journal entries, like stepping back in time. I riffled through the pages, wondering where I should read. I finally settled on the second entry, from May 5, 2021. My eyes widened when I read the verse I had copied in neat, crisp print. You can probably guess what verse it was, but I was flabbergasted!

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men, yet they cannot fathom the work that God has done from beginning to end.

I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and do good while they live, and also that every man should eat and drink and find satisfaction in all his labor—this is the gift of God. (Ecclesiastes 3:11-13) 

Below the passage, I had written, "How can God make everything beautiful? I know He does it in His time, in its time. It takes time to build beauty, and in time that beauty becomes visible.... I love it that God thinks the best thing we can do is rejoice. He wants us to have joy and do good, and to enjoy doing good. He wants us to eat and drink and enjoy the fruit of our labor. That feeling of 'job well done' is God's gift to us." 

I left that other journal entry unfinished so I could revel in this sacred echo. I'd been right. The passage was about both eternity and beauty. Also, it showed me that God had enjoyed hearing my list of everyday joys just a few minutes before.

I set the journal back in the bin tenderly and set about my weekend chores with a light heart. Oh yes! God still speaks to me. But only when I take the time to listen.

More beauty in my day:

Allyson's Last Homecoming Dance

Best Friends

The Gift of Renewed Appreciation

In a relatively recent entry, I related how God gave me a gift I didn't know I wanted, in the form of a Lab mix named Olive. A few months later, He gave me another gift I hadn't been looking for. 

Long before Olive came along, two cats joined our family. The first was Arwen, a Russian blue that Ethan picked out. She was soon followed by CiCi, a white and gray scamp with an astonishing capacity for dreaming up mischief. 

In truth, I never wanted a cat at all, but my two children wore me down with their relentless pleading. We'd all suffered a staggering blow when Bill and I divorced, and I wanted to give them a little joy as we embarked on our new life in a single-parent household. Arwen and CiCi fulfilled every misgiving that had fueled my arguments against owning a cat, and they had additional vices I'd never even imagined. Even so, Arwen quickly stole my heart, but that is another story. 

CiCi came to us as a baby whom I could hold in one hand. Although she was impossibly cute, she was all claws and teeth, and much of my affection ebbed away each time she drew blood in the fight to keep stolen food, or used her claws to communicate her desire to be left alone. 

Baby CiCi and Allyson

Orphaned as a newborn, CiCi has been a talented scavenger from the start. We soon learned there is virtually nothing she won't eat; for example, she licks out empty cans of tomato paste the moment I set them on the counter. She shares my love of carbohydrates but has an advantage over me in that she can literally sniff out tortillas and loaves of bread within seconds. For that reason, we can never leave grocery bags unguarded, or else we will find holes in the wrapper and hunks of bread missing, or a perfect half moon cut out of a stack of tortillas. But her favorite food is anything she can fish out of the toaster, such as my beloved pancakes. 

Worth Getting Up For

On Friday and Saturday, February 24-25, Allyson and her teammates competed in the state Academic Decathlon meet in Frisco, Texas. Although it was an hour's drive, there was no way I would miss the awards ceremony that Sunday morning.

When I sent a text requesting the details, Allyson tried to dissuade me:

Sarah: ...I want to be there when you give your winning speech ♥

Allyson: nooooo

Sarah: I want to cheer for your awards, whatever you get

Allyson: idk how to explain it but i probably won't win many individual awards, cause i'm going for a overall award rather than just individual

Sarah: Oh. I've been looking forward to cheering for you and your team. :( 

Allyson: you can come it's fine... it's just there's two ways you can strategize for state you can study really hard on one subject to try to win one medal or you can study all of them- not get individual medals, and try to win as an overall student...

Sarah: Well, if I can go, I'd like to.

Allyson: you have to buy a ticket

I sent several more messages requesting instructions on purchasing the ticket, and Allyson continued warning me to lower my expectations. She told me that her prepared speech had been a little short on time so she'd had to improvise, but that her impromptu speech had been great. Other than that, she wasn't sure how she did.

Allyson: there is no guarantee i get any awards keep that in mind

Sarah: I know. I think you will. But even if you don't I will be super proud of you and your team. You all worked very hard.

Allyson: thank you

I Wasn't Surprised

 As I mentioned in my previous entry, Allyson has taken her role as co-captain of the Academic Decathlon team very seriously, especially in recent weeks as they were preparing for their regional meet. Over Christmas break, I was shocked when she woke up early one morning to meet her teammates at a coffee shop for a study session which she had organized. And I was even more impressed when she came home and said she'd really enjoyed it. 

Last Monday (January 23), she went to her room with an energy drink after an early supper to study and finish planning her speech. 

"Will it be a late night?" I asked. "I'm afraid you won't be able to sleep if you drink that."

She nodded. "I need it to stay awake. I'll probably be up until 2 or 3." 

The next morning after she'd left for school, I came across the note cards for her speech on the bathroom counter. The top card captured my attention with a riveting introduction. I knew she planned to share the speech with me when she was finished, but I couldn't resist reading the whole thing right then. I smiled as I flipped through the cards because it took me back to speech class in college, when I'd written my notes on index cards just like these; I'd figured that no one wrote notes in ink anymore due to all the electronic options these days. (The notes, it turns out, were only for practicing. At the actual competition, she would have to give her speech from memory.)

I noted with satisfaction the smooth transitions, the appeals to emotion and logic, and the statistics she used to back her claim that hateful rhetoric in the media incites physical violence. I noted one section where the transition felt a little abrupt but decided not to mention it unless she asked for my advice. 

That same evening, Allyson asked me to brew her a pot of coffee after dinner for another late night. As I twisted the hand grinder that I use each Saturday to prepare my one cup of coffee each week, I marveled that my little girl was old enough to drink coffee--even though she's actually been drinking it for several years. It felt different, somehow, like when my parents used to drink coffee from a Thermos to stay awake all night on cross-country trips.

About four hours later, when I was getting ready for bed, Allyson came into my room for a few minutes for our usual bedtime prayer. When I asked if she had any requests, she asked that God would help her perform well at the upcoming Academic Decathlon competition scheduled for the coming Friday and Saturday (January 27-28). 

"You left the notes for your speech in the bathroom today," I said. "I hope you don't mind that I read them. I think your speech is really strong. I especially like the intro. It really grabbed my attention." 

She frowned. "I don't like my speech at all. I'm going to work on it tonight."

"Are you just tweaking it, or revamping it completely?" I contemplated offering advice about the transition, but her answer made it irrelevant.

"Revamping it."

Next, she told me about the sleepover she'd planned for the team on Friday night. Other teams who'd traveled to compete would be staying in a hotel and using every moment together to study, and Allyson wanted her team to have the same advantage. "The whole team--well, the nine people who are competing--will be spending the night at my dad's."

"Won't you need to go to bed early?"

"We have to cram for Saturday," she said. 

She said it was the first sleepover some of the girls had ever been to, and she was nervous about making it an experience that everyone would enjoy. I was touched that she was not only concerned with the studying, but also with making everyone feel comfortable.

So we prayed that the study session would be productive and fun for everyone, and then I asked God to help Allyson as she reworked her speech that evening, and that He would help her deliver the speech in a way that would impact everyone who heard it. 

Quizzing Each Other with Flashcards
The Sleepover Was A Success Both Academically and Socially

Let Me Tell You 'Bout My Girl

It's been far too long since I wrote a post about Allyson, so I decided to take the time today to bring you up to date. I hope you will forgive me if I do a bit of bragging; I just can't help being very proud of my girl.

Allyson at Painting with a Twist

Since my post in July 2021 about her first job, Allyson has attained two promotions. First, she became a monitor during her second summer as a lifeguard, which means she could work alone to oversee swimmers and supervise the facilities at various community pools. Just a few weeks later, she became a manager, which entailed supervising other lifeguards, helping ensure shifts were covered, and handling problems with guests. At the tender age of 16, she shouldered these new responsibilities admirably. 

Allyson and Three Lifeguard Friends

Allyson in Monitor Uniform

In Manager Uniform

She has been recommended for yet another promotion this upcoming season, as a lifeguard instructor. In this new role, she will earn significantly more money and will have the opportunity to impact other young workers as they learn crucial lifesaving skills. Before she can start this new phase of her career, she must complete even more rigorous physical and academic training than when she first became a lifeguard, and she must pass tests that many other lifeguards have failed. "What if I can't do it?" she asked recently. "It would be so embarrassing to try and fail."