The Book of Eileen

This was my sweet Gramcracker, Gloria Eileen DeVore Jeffries, May 11, 1922 – February 12, 2009. [That's me with my arms around her in case you don't recognize me without my spikey bleached blonde/purple hair. Today is her birthday and I miss her. I've been sitting here drinking my coffee in bed, thinking about her, digging up old pics and a couple old posts I wrote to honor her.] I don’t remember exactly when I started calling her Gramcracker. Somewhere along the road I got taller, relatively speaking, as in, than her; I guess I just felt like my cute little grandma needed a special pet name. Gramcracker just rolled off my tongue like it was destiny. I wish there was s’more to it, but there’s not.;)

Her given name was Gloria, which means glory. It doesn’t surprise me that she didn’t go by it, though. I don’t know all her reasons, but I like to imagine that she gave her given name to her God, just like she lived, for His own glory. She went by Eileen, which means light, and makes total sense if you knew her. When she was a little girl and shortly after she started speaking, she called herself, “I-E”. At 21 months, she was saying her prayers. Begging her mum to read the Bible to her about Jesus. Begging her mum to sing hymns to her. (I use the word “begging” in the loosest sense of the word, if you think her mum actually had any choice, and only because that is the euphemism her mum wrote in her baby book. If you knew my Gramcracker, you read that word more like an antonym.) At two-years-old, two of her favorite songs were, Jesus Bids Us Shine and He Wants Me for a Sunbeam. Once when she was sick, she “begged” her mom and grandma to sing those, and two other hymns, to her, over and over again and again, until they were almost sick but literally tired of them. And probably hoarse, if I know my Gramcracker. Now that I come to think of it, maybe Gram-cracker, was more of a divine tip, than a mere slip of my tongue. Grandma + firecracker = Gramcracker?! By the time she was four, she put childish things and prayers aside, preferring to sayThe Lord’s Prayer before bedtime, rather than the “little” one her little brother, Neal, said. From a very young age, I-E seemed to embody her name. Almost as if the children’s song, This Little Light of Mine, I’m Gonna Let it Shine was written just for her.

She graced my life with her godly presence and prayers from the moment I was born on September 27, 1965, until  February 12, 2009, when she went home to be with God, and my Grandpa. That is 15,845 days that she was my example and 15,845 days that she prayed for me. One of the most significant and beautiful things anybody has ever done/will ever do for me. It humbles me and lifts me up all at the same time. And makes me feel very, very blessed. And, yes, Josh Groban is singing You Raise Me Up in the background of my mind right now when I think about it.

Four years ago God raised her up and my Gramcracker entered her rest, blazing, as always the trail before me. To me she was an anchor. She had cast herself upon Jesus; and she also cast me upon Him, every day of my life, as she loved me and prayed for me, every day of my life.

15,845 days. That is probably the most significant thing anyone has ever done or will ever do for me, and one of my greatest treasures in this life. If I could find a precious of enough bottle, and bottle it, I would wear it around my neck and use it like Lucy’s Narnian vial with the magical cordial with healing powers. Like my Gramcracker, did for me.

She lifted me up to Him and she carried me. When I could walk she took my hand and I scurried along, at her heels. She walked before me and I followed her. Along the way, we began walking side by side. Further on, as she would scoot along with her wheeled-walker, she would crack herself up (which always cracked me up) calling herself my “rockin’ and rollin’” Gramcracker. And at times I’d push her in her wheelchair. I would receive a card a few days later thanking me. Even from a wheelchair that I was pushing, she was leading me.

To me she was a signpost, pointing me to Jesus, the Word who became flesh and dwelt among us. Now she is resting in peace, and dwelling in Him.

I don’t know how many days she read His Word while she dwelt here. But she was 86 when she died, and like I said, her baby book records that as early as 21 months she began begging her Mum to read to her the Bible about Jesus. That is higher math and I’m no math guru, but I know that’s a lot.

Here is just a sampling of some of her Bibles I collected from various nooks and crannies of her tiny apartment. As we were sorting through her things, I made a stack of her open Bibles and just sat there by myself for awhile, in awe. They were all worn, some to pieces, and were marked from cover to cover. Sermon notes, cross references, prayer requests, highlights, “precept”-style, names, dates, notes. A precious treasure trove.

The night before the funeral, I brought my Redheads to see my little “shrine”. I wanted them to see this particular inheritance my Gramcracker, their Gigi, left us. I wanted them to feel the weight of her devotion to God. She didn’t just read His Word (over and over and over…), she lived and breathed every Word. She loved God and she loved us, which was not just evident while she graced our lives, but all over the margins of her Bibles. (Do the math, Redheads, because you can be sure she prayed for you just as she prayed for me, all the days of your life for the rest of her life.)

Psalm 119:105 says, “Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” I don’t think it’s any coincidence that my Gramcracker’s name was Eileen, which means light. She showed me the path, helped put my feet upon it, pointed out the Lamppost for me, fought the fight, ran the race, kept the faith, and left the Book of Eileen behind for us to follow. Like she was leaving the light on for us.

She is still leading and I am still following.

[To my Gramcracker who "fought the good fight...finished the race...[and] kept the faith” (2 Tim. 4:7): I’m trying to keep up, my speedy little Gramcracker. I thank God for you and that you have received your reward and are resting in peace (2 Tim 4:8). I’m still tired from running a 1/2 marathon last weekend, Gramcracker. But that tired is on top of tired, and you know what I mean since a lot of those things are “groanings which cannot be uttered”—but which I believe both God and you understand. Anyway, I miss you like crazy. But I do believe I will see you again, God willing I finish my race one of these days having kept the faith. And, yes, Carrie Underwood is singing “See You Again” in the background while I’m typing these words, missing you. What I think I miss most, is that from the day I was born you were my greatest cheerleader in my life, and I feel a little lost at times since you’ve been gone. Yet I know you are now a part of the “great cloud of witnesses” surrounding me (Heb. 12:1) and I have no doubt you are still cheering me on just like you did while you were here with me, to follow your example as you followed Christ (1 Cor. 11:1). I know you see me from where you are, a tiny purple blur on this big blue dot, running my butt off trying to fight the good fight, finish the race, keep the faith, hoping to someday enter that rest. I imagine from your perspective it might look a little like Harold’s purple crayon saw a SQUIRREL. Which I imagine cracks you up. Which feels like the best way I can sum up my thoughts on this, your birthday… with thoughts of you smiling over me. Happy Birthday, Gramcracker.]

Three Words and One Thing About Grace

You’ve got mail. Once upon a time not so very long ago those three little words used to rank up there with I love you as the most important words in the English language. Perhaps when AOL was king, there was a decree issued in such a such a year, which crowned them synonomous. Before the kings and candidates were abusing inboxes of all sorts and sizes.

I can still imagine that voice when I think about those three little words. I still like think of the movie when I hear them; I still own the soundtrack. But I used to get as excited as I did in junior high when I’d get off the school bus and the red flag would wave me down to see if I had a letter from my Japanese pen pal: Kieko.

Now I hardly ever check the mailbox. I rarely listen to phone messages on the answering machine. And recently, after receiving *urgent* emails about my 72^nd friend who was stuck in jail in Thailand and needed me to wire him/her money… well, let’s just say those three words don’t do much for me these days.

I didn’t hear the words yesterday when I woke up my computer (mostly cuz inboxes don’t talk that way anymore but also because I hadn’t had enough coffee to open my eyes all the way) …but I did get the message somebody was just calling to say I love you. Or me, to be technically correct since I. Had. Mail.

So I got this random email. From a stranger I met in Amsterdam on my way to Jerusalem. Over two sets of eyes meeting and one pair seeing a question mark in the 2^nd pair. A quest for internet connectivity (hooking up to wifi to get on Facebook) and one who had been there and done that but still had her eyes open to see question marks and people.

It was a random act of kindness kind of email and I was the lucky one to find this message in my inbox:

Hi Joules, Am hoping you are doing great. I met you at Amsterdam around February 19 – If I remember you were connecting to Israel? Anyway you helped me logging on to the internet. I was flying to Kenya – home. So how was your trip? I have had a chance to browse over your website from your business card – and you are incredible lady. God made you for a reason and is always with you – keep on being positive, life is all what we make of it. If possible we can talk and keep in touch. Good day, Grace

How could I not have a good day after that?

I couldn’t forget meeting Grace in Amsterdam. I had  forgotten exactly how we got talking, but now I remember the patchy wifi, navigating through the fog of jet lag to connect on the airport interwebs, then looking up and seeing Grace smiling at me. We had a lovely chat, exchanged contact info, then as quickly as she had graced my day, Grace got on board a flight to Africa.

And yesterday, I… got… mail! I’ve been thinking about it, and about Grace, ever since. Grace really made my day. The thing about grace is that it’s a gift, usually a surprise. A seemingly random, happy surprise. It was such a gift connecting with Grace in Amsterdam and sharing a few precious moments of the kindness of strangers with one another. What I don’t mean to do by sharing this story, is to come off sounding like a clanging cymbal tooting my own horn about a small act of kindness I got to do. That is not the purpose. Grace is the hero in my story. But this isn’t the kind of story where you read those two little words at the end of a book and then shut it.

I guess I could close the email I got from grace and not reply. But that would make a boring story. Instead I am left with three of my favorite words: Pay it forward.

There is a sign over the door of my church that says: Small things done with great love will change the world. I think it’s based on a quote from Mother Theresa. She knew a thing or two bazillion about grace. One thing I know about grace is that I need to R.S.V.P.

It Is Well

“!Hey there February. That was mighty sneaky of you…!” ~Amanda Michele Benton

Well… my sweet baby girl’s tweet first thing this morning took the words right out of my mouth. I mean, I know what they say about time flying, and I have been having the time of my life these days, but… holy crap how did we get to February already? I’ve barely slept a wink thus far this year, let alone toss my own two cents into the wishing well for 2013… and it’s already February?!

Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)

Between kicking off the New Year in Cabo with the hubster for our 25th anniversary, then heading to Alabama to kick-off The SCAR Project Birmingham Exhibition, all the while planning an upcoming trip to Israel to visit lovely survivor/previvor friends over there, not to mention, sneaking in runs here and there to train for the Breathtaking Jerusalem 1/2 Marathon (which btw I just got a tatoo on my writing hand that says “Breathe” in Chinese symbols… just in case), and… all the SQUIRRELS…

Well… I figure that sitting still is not my strong suit. Oh well. I feel pretty lucky about the hand I’ve been dealt and am digging getting to play all these fun cards in my hand. #winning

Since February is the month of hearts, which I hope is my strong suit, I figure today is as good a time as any to ante up, or, if you’re OK with metaphor surfing, I think I’ll raise two cents, toss them into that well, and tell you my wishes for 2013. Which I think are way more fun than…

So obviously I’d like to make 13 of them. To symbolize my top 2,013 hopes and dreams, and yes, even a few resolves (as long as they are triple action cuz I dig multitasking) for this year we’ve already dipped our toes into: the year of our Lord, two-thousand and thirteen.

[disclaimer: the following wishes are in no particular order because the thought of putting them in order, frankly, stresses me out. And I'm so not in the mood for stress. Read my tattoo.]

In case you can’t read sign language and/or Chinese, my hand  is bilingual. Translation: “Peace” and “Breathe”

1: First, a word. And by that, I mean a word for the year. My word for last year was given to me by my beautiful friend Mardy. It was ripples. Which is appropriate, for the ripple effect she had/has in my life. My word for 2013 was given to me by my sweet Amanda in a prayer for me.

“Oh, the other day I had some of our team pray over you guys and this is what they got… Momma, this image: a picture of a well, send the bucket down further, it’s not dry, you just need to go a tiny bit further to find the water that’s always been there. Oh, and make RIPPLES!”

Well I can’t even tell you how perfect a word that is for me. In 2011 I cast out. In 2012 I surfed on the ripples. This year it’s time to dig deep. Deep into well: very, abundantly, fully, as wished, in good health, an exclamation of surprise, a segue to fill gaps, a hole in the ground, a source of water etc., a place where water surfaces naturally, a spring, ink well, wishing well, to seep out of the surface.

2: I ran my first 1/2 marathon last November. Now I’m hooked. I’ve got one 5K (The Birmingham Red Nose Run) under my belt, and the Breathtaking Jerusalem 1/2 and the Cincinnati Flying Pig 1/2 Marathons on tap. That’s three out of 13 races I hope to finish in 2013. Digging deeper, running further this year.

3: A pilgrimage to the Holy Land. 3 weeks in Israel. Digging my toes into the same dirt Jesus walked on. Yeah, I get it that there is 2,000 years of dirt on top of the dirt he actually walked on, but it’s my parade and I’m bringing an umbrella;) And I’m also going to try to walk on water. Or at least float…in the Dead Sea.

4: A year of living sincerely is the VLOG I started on my 4 year cancerversary to honor my friend Vanessa and her The Live Sincerely Project, and to count down to my…

5: High-Five-Year Cancerversary Not-a-Chemo-Cocktail Party! August 20, 2013 will be my 5 year cancerverary, which I know is not a promise of anything… really, what is, until we find a damn cure… and even then, you never know when you’re, say, driving a Vespa in Rome and *poof* all of a sudden you’re faceplanting against a stone wall of a church like Wiley Coyote, and coming even closer to “checking out” than what hap’d with the damn cancer. Yeah I added head injury to insult my chemo brain was already feeling. Anyway, all that to say I’m having a freaking PARTY for my 5 year. It’s my parade and I’m bringing umbrellas. For the cocktails. Everybody’s invited.

6: Super proud and praying for my sweet Mateo’s mission trip with Destiny Rescue in June.

7: Can’t wait for July when my sweet Amanda and Gary will be back again from their mission trip to Wales.

8: Family Vacation! All I ever wanted. Vacation. Have to get away! Oh yeah! Can’t wait! The whole fam damily! Woo freaking hoo!

End of Chemo Family Vacation Celebration 2009

9: Book 2 is percolating. And I’ve got a book of sonnets in the works as well.

10: As today is Groundhog Day, I’m happy to report one of my wishes came true this morning… although at first, it seemed like just another winter day after day after day. Yay for Punxsutawney Phil, who did not, I repeat DID NOT see his shadow this morning! So spring is just chilling out in all this snow, waiting to be uncorked! All I can say is Cheers, y’all, and I’ll drink to that! Clink, clink!

11: Since my Redheads have flown the coop, I mean, left the nest, I’ve been taking a bunch of the most adorable little warrior sisters under my wings and connecting with an amazing organization called The Dragonfly Foundation, which brings comfort and cheer to kids with cancer. Oh. My. Heart. I superfreakingheart all my little dragonflies!

This is one of my fave pics of my little warrior sister Maya the Magnificent and me. She’s letting me rub her head for good luck before my 3-month oncologist appt a few weeks ago. Which worked, btw! Got the ‘ol 2 thumbs up and another 3 month hall pass!

12: Hopefully we’ll be able to announce the dates for The SCAR Project—DC Exhibition super soon! Fingers crossed! Stay tuned HERE on the SCAR blog. I’m super stoked to see the exhibit premiere in our nation’s capital! Also still working hard behind the scenes trying to find the right venue for The SCAR Project—LA Exhibition. Both fingers and toes crossed!

13: Last but not least, I know I have been doing more Vlogging than Blogging these days, but I hope to use a little of that triple action resolve and maybe even try and sit still a wee bit more often, because I really do like playing with words and blah blah blahging.

L’chaim, shalom, love, and Happy Groundhog Day y’all!

12/21 Looking Forward and Looking Back 12/21

I was up all night last night but it wasn’t to sip on the last few drops of  the world’s last night. I figure it’s dramatic enough that by the time my head hits the pillow most nights, it’s only after I’ve forced it to with an Ativan, because somewhere in the back of my chemo brain I guess I put a helluva lot of pressure on myself to make sure I’m not wasting this incredible gift of time I’ve been given.

Some nights I let the insomnia ride. Last night I was awake to catch this spoiler alert from New Zealand on Facebook; a few hours later I was still awake to catch the first snowflakes falling on Cincinnati bringing tidings of winter. Not the end of the world.

I didn’t SHARE it. Didn’t want to ruin the suspense for anybody. Didn’t feel like dissing on the Mayans. So what if they sucked at making calendars? I suck at keeping mine straight and showing up to things on the right day, let alone, on time. In fact, forget about me ever being on time. It’s most likely not gonna happen. Except by accident. And hopefully not a literal accident, but you can never be too sure with me. Anyway, one of the “side effects” I got from all of my being occasionally radioactive with a chance of superpowers was the ability to teleport to wherever my calendar says I’m supposed to be. But unfortunately I forgot the launch code during the “Vespa Incident” so now that superpower is about as useless as a Mayan calendar.

Speaking of calendars and dates 12/21 will not just live in Mayan infamy, but will always and forever be a milestone for me.

3 years ago today I was downing my last of 24 chemo cocktails. Here’s a video of the nurse cutting me off. Bartender, I’d had enough.

And my Redheads wrote this song for my last chemo cocktail and sang it to me when I’d downed that last one. It’s my chemo cocktail theme song but it’s also my favorite Christmas song ever. Everybody knows it as the “Cancer is a Bitch” song.

That version will always have a special place in my heart because they wrote it in the stairwell that day while I was downing that last  chemo cocktail. Click HERE to check out the studio version they released on iTunes. It costs 99 cents, which doesn’t exactly feed starving Redheads, but they do have this piggy bank who likes to eat.

2 years ago I was writing a couple chapters in my book on location, in a place ironically germane to this calendar debacle situation: The Riviera Maya. Dave and I were on holiday, having been given an incredibly generous gift of a trip far, far away from cancer and chemo, from the Karen Wellington Foundation. The resort we stayed at was called Adventure Spa, and like the name implies, it was the perfect balance of adventure and pampering. To me it was like a diving board… into my life. Take II.

By this time last year I’d published SHAKEN NOT STIRRED… A CHEMO COCKTAIL and had begun diving into what next? otherwise known as the Mayan year of 2012 in which the world was supposed to end today. But didn’t. (refer to illustration at the top of the page;)

Which brings us up-to-date and explains my insomnia all in one fell swoop. Anyway, so I’m still trying to work out the what next? of everything. Last year was a pretty packed and crazy fun prequel filled with my Amanda graduating, getting married, and moving with her husband Gary to Wales for a mission trip. Not to mention, me trying to pay forward this incredible gift of time I have by spending it and myself loving my neighbor and kicking cancer’s ass.

One small way I thought it would be fun to celebrate and pay it forward a bit was to offer the Kindle version of my book FREE today, now that everybody has time to read since the world didn’t end. Yay! The cool thing about the Kindle version is the pictures are in color! Even the pic of me after the “Vespa Incident”! Anyway, click HERE for the link.

A Year of Living Sincerely

August 20, 2012
(Dave-O, Mateo, the luckiest girl in the world, Mikeyy)

Last Monday was my 4-year cancerversary—1,462 days since my doctor said that damn C-word to me. Despite the bad rap that sticks and stones usually get, we got the shit kicked out of us by a word 1,462 days ago.

I realize that might seem like an odd thing to celebrate.

1,462 days ago—sucked, not gonna tap dance around it. For one, I don’t know how to tap dance—but that’s beside the point. Cancer was a twist of my fate I had to figure out how to cope with—but lucky for me I can do the twist. Even luckier, I’ve had 1,462 days since that suckiest of days of a whole lotta twisting, a little bit of shouting, shaking it up baby, trying to work it on out and all that jazz.

Last Monday night, on the other hand, was the polar opposite of suck. The soundtrack to that crazy road-trip in between the two has definitely had Sheryl Crow’s “Every Day is a Winding Road” in the mix. Man oh man, I love that song by my fellow survivor sister. How many days did I try to walk off the chemo buzz listening to that song looped on my iPhone? Those days were literally winding roads;) That song was like a postcard from her saying “Been there, done that. Hang in there. Let’s hang out someday. Love, Sheryl.” Or something like that. But anyway, every day I did get a little bit closer to feeling fine, just like she said. And these days, those days are thankfully more and more in the rear-view mirror like faded signs.

So we celebrated. Rear-view mirrors. Faded signs. Milestones. Winding roads. An epic road trip. The scenic route. A great soundtrack. Memories. Kodak moments. The finish line. A green flag. Life. Health. 4 years. 1,462 days. The moment. Each other. So many mercies. So much to celebrate. And brother, I did. So much. (OK, maybe a little too much—but at least I didn’t try to tap dance;)

Anyway, for each of those 4 birthday candles, I thought I’d share 4 souvenirs I’ve picked up along this winding road.

• Champagne corks. As you can tell from the previous paragraph, not to mention, if you know me at all, I’m all about celebrating the small stuff. And as often as possible. I so dig this quote by Robert Brault: “Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.” He also said, “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.” This is the kind of disposition of celebration I hope I live my life with.
• Daisy petals. I also want a disposition of gratitude. There’s so much to celebrate because there’s so much to be thankful for. Everywhere we look. If we open our eyes and take the time to look. The Bible says God’s mercies are new every morning. Waking up to a new day is a gift. Every heartbeat. Each breath, even morning breath but especially freshly brushed teeth breath. He scatters these and other assorted mercies throughout our day, like Van Gogh’s “Sower” (at least that’s how I picture it.) He is ridiculous generous. Oh how He loves. It’s like if we picked a daisy and started plucking petals, here’s how it always goes down: He loves me, He loves me, He loves me…. I’ve been keeping such a list here, my 1000 gifts. I’ve been having fun counting and I know I could totally go over the top if I wrote down each of those 1,462 days as a gift—which they are—but in the spirit of enjoying the journey I’ll just jot down my 4-year-cancerversary for #188.
• Fortune cookies. I really do feel like I’m the luckiest girl in the world sometimes. I try to feel like this as often as possible, because it feels good. I guess I’m whatever kind of hedonist or epicurean that makes me. Anyway, besides the grace of God, I owe a lot of this to the ridiculous good fortune of being surrounded by such damn good peeps. The Beatles, methinks, said it best, “I get by with a little help from my friends.” Truly I do. And truly I mean to have a disposition of paying it forward. One small way I’m trying to do this, and there’s still a few days left this month, is that for the month of August I’m paying forward 100% of my proceeds from my book Shaken Not Stirred… a Chemo Cocktail to The Save the Ta-tas Foundation and the breast cancer researcher superheroes they fund on their mission (not)impossible to find a cure.
• Tattoos. I have 5 tattoos. So far. Each one is like a stamp on my passport from this crazy cancer road trip. I got my first one after I finished chemo cocktails. It’s a lucky charm, and my sister Jennie, my daughter Amanda, and I all three got one together to put a stamp on that awful bar tab. I wrote about that tattoo in more detail HERE. I got my second and third tattoos on a day when I had my 3 month check-up with my oncologist and my friend Terri was meeting with hers to find out she has Lymphoma. There’s a Bible verse that says “I believe; help my unbelief.” -Mark 9:24. I live there. Those words are written on my heart and I imagine they’re also on the insides of my eyelids because whenever I close my eyes I see them. That day I had them etched on my wrists where I can see and remember. The one on my left is bold, and in black.  The one on the right is white, almost visible, but still there. The font for each of them is the same elegant script, tying them together in the most eloquent prayer I know. My forth tattoo is simply an elegant rendering of the Japanese symbol for 3. It is for my 3 Redheads, my 3 reasons, as they are all flying the nest these days. They have been the most delightful companions these past 21 years every day of their lives as I was lucky enough to be their stay-at-home then homeschool Mum. As much as I’m excited to see them chase their dreams (and chase after them chasing their dreams) I’m going to miss my sidekicks. The 3 is just a little reminder of them, and a sign for them that I’ll always be by their side. My newest tattoo is inspired by my beautiful friend Vanessa, her life, and her Live Sincerely Project and tattoo. Vanessa has stage 4 breast cancer which has gone metastatic to her brain. I hate to type these words but the piss me off reality is that she is dying. And yet, it’s not like she’s laying down waiting to die or anything. That. is NOT. Vanessa’s style. Never has been never will be. She’s dying like she’s lived these past 29 years: Sincerely. Not only that, but she’s started a project encouraging others to live sincerely (and not wait till they are dying to start living) which has started a global movement. Please check it out. I promise you’ll be inspired by Vanessa’s story and example. And I double dog dare you to take the pledge with me and live sincerely.

In honor of her, in celebration of my 4-year-cancerversary, and in anticipation of that dangling carrot of a 5-year-cancerversary, I’ve taken the pledge to live sincerely and I’m documenting it. I’ve begun a daily VLOG on YouTube called a year of living sincerely. You can find me under JoulesE, EvanshireTV, or a year of living sincerely, if you’d like to follow my Quixotic adventures. I’d love to have you along for the ride while we count down for my 5-year-cancerversary/not-a-chemo-cocktail-party BASH on August 20. 2013.

SAVE THE DATE Y’ALL!

She Sang Because She Was Happy. Now She Sings Because She’s Free.

Once upon a time Mardy came to the Vineyard without her hair just as mine was beginning to grow back from treatment. I walked up to her after church and said, “Hey, I used to have that haircut.” We cracked up, I got enveloped in one of those awesome Mardy hugs, and we were fast friends forever, not the end.

Like everybody else who was lucky to call her friend, Mardy was all about “hoping I dance” and in seeing me chase my dreams. And Mardy made a point to show up, and cheer me on.

Mardy came to The SCAR Project Cincinnati Exhibition when I produced it. She’s pictured here with our friends Brad and Tina Lower.

When I had my 2-year-cancerversary/Stand Up to Cancer/Shaken Not Stirred book reading bash (before I’d even finished writing my book:p) Mardy didn’t just show up, she danced with me.

I was deeply honored to get to stand up to cancer with Mardy. When I got the text from her saying, simply: “At ER” I had no idea it was an invitation to her last dance. Oh dear God, thank you with all my heart, for the words/spirit/life of Mardy which led me by example not to sit it out but to dance….

The day the oncologist told her the cancer had spread to much of her body, Mardy’s revert was to close her eyes and worship God, singing, “It’s not over, till God says it’s over”.

Then she got back in the ring to keep fighting as they hooked her back up to the orange koolaid chemo.

Click here to listen to a clip of Mardy and Jenn turning Mardy’s chemo cocktail lounge of a room into CHURCH!

And she kept singing. The other patients in the wing would come in and wonder 1) is that an angel singing? 2) what channel Mardy’s room was on so they could switch to it too.

The day the oncologist told her that the cancer had spread to her brain, she was mad at the cancer trying to kill her and wanted to kill it. So. Did. I. So did we all.

Damn cancer.

The cancer caused pressure on her brain and made her quite disoriented and confused. She knew she was disoriented and confused but even when she couldn’t articulate, let alone finish, her own thoughts, when I read Psalm 91 and 139 to her, she recited the Psalms with me from memory.

As soon as this hard news started getting out, Mardy’s friends and family started flooding into her hospital room to pray with her and sing to her. Mardy found comfort in our presence, the prayers we prayed, the Scriptures we read, the songs we sang. And she sang. And sang. Again, it was her revert. In the space between songs, occasionally she’d start crying. And here’s the thing that gets me about Mardy. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself, which she totally had every right to. The rest of us in the room sure were. But not Mardy. She was crying because she said she still had so much love to give. So much love left. And then someone would walk in the room and she’d light up and tell them how much she loved them. Or someone would start another song and she’d start singing her praises to the Lord again.

I think we were all thinking we had so much love yet to give her. So much love left. For our Mardy.

None of us knew that would be Mardy’s “last concert”. Her sister Julia said it was her “Gratitude Concert”. It’s like she literally sang her heart out. What a curtain call. And we got to be witnesses. Talk about gratitude. I’m the one who is grateful.

Mardy brought the house down that night, completely spending herself in worship. Even when we got more hard news that night, that they were going to move Mardy to another hospital STAT, even then, especially then Mardy sang while she waited. As the paramedics were rolling her out of the room, down the hall, and into the elevator, she sang. The paramedics said she sang all the way downtown to Good Samaritan Hospital. That’s about a 1/2 hour drive. Good Samaritan said they knew when she was in the house because they heard her singing when the paramedics cued her entrance with the bursting through the doors.

One of the paramedics was seen singing “Our God is an Awesome God” as he was leaving her presence.

Eventually, Mardy sang herself to sleep that night. How very precious that we got to hear that sweet lullaby.

There’s a sign etched on the front of the Vineyard that says, “Small things done with great love will change the world.” Mardy put flesh and wings on those words. She changed my world. I think she changed a lot of our worlds.

And now our worlds are rocked because we miss. this. face.

I didn’t know this would be the last photo I’d get to take of Mardy. But it’s kinda fitting, not to mention, AWESOME.

The last “words” I “heard” her “speak” were the night before she took her last breath before she sang her first note face to Face to Jesus, were when my friend Keshia was singing “His Eye is on the Sparrow” to her Auntie Mardy. Everytime Keshia got to the chorus, “I sing because I’m happy. I sing because I’m free.” Mardy would shake her right foot like she was so excited she couldn’t contain it!

Now she is free. And happy. And singing.

And as much as I’m going to miss her like crazy, I totally get why God wanted her there STAT.

Wouldn’t it be the most beautiful thing if we all just considered all the little ways she loved on us and changed our worlds, and then if we all went and did likewise?

Layer Cake

August has a way of kicking the shit out of me.

On the one hand, that’s not entirely a bad thing, when you think about it in a literal sense, cuz we all know I’m full of it; on the other hand, sometimes you just wanna kick back. Or at least I do. And I’m not talking kick back and relax—although, that’s a very good thing too and something I look forward to doing one of these days. But right now I’ve got on my boots.

4 years ago in the wee hours of what was Saturday night fading into Sunday, I watched Perseus’s meteor showers with my sweet Mikeyy after I found a lump (that felt like a shooter marble) in my breast that turned out to be cancer—which catapulted me into the crazy ass cancer chick that I am today.

3 years ago that night all I tried to do was keep my mind off marbles.

2 years ago that night my Redheads, a bunch of my friends, and I stood up to cancer and made this music video for SU2C’s “Up To You” Video Challenge. (Btw, my sweet Amanda got 4^th place in the contest.)

Last year… I don’t remember… and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Last week I said goodbye to my Uncle Bill, after he finally got to kick back and relax and enter his rest after a long hard battle against cancer. When I was a kid my Uncle Bill used to be a demolition derby driver and I used to sing “Billy, Don’t Be a Hero” to him all the time. But he was my hero. And part of me grew up thinking he was the Energizer Bunny. Damn cancer.

A few days ago I watched my friend Mardy who sings like an angel, take her last breath this side of the lamppost, before singing her first note, face to Face, before the One she’d always been singing for. And, as much as I’m super freaking happy for her that she got called up to the big league choir in the sky… and I totally get it and don’t blame God one bit for doing so, because I’d totally want Mardy in the house if I was Him too… still… I’m going to miss her like crazy. Damn cancer.

That’s what I’m talking about when I say August likes to kick the shit out of me.

However, August is a tricksy one. It’s not like March, which actually sounds like a month that might be suiting up to kick some ass.

No, like a good book or, say, a coconut cake, August is all about the layers. And it’s all in how you slice ‘em.

At first glance you see the icing.

At first glance—or maybe first bite is more apropos—the first sound to roll off the tongue is the breath of fresh air produced by the first syllable: [Au]. I like to pronounce it like so: “Ahhh….” But please feel free to insert as many h’s as is necessary–whatever floats your boat and channels that inner peace. The “Ahhh…” is chased by a [gust] of wind from, well, the wind-pipes, of course. When you put it all together you pretty much get a gust of ahhhs. Kick back and relax kinda ahhhs. Sneaking a taste of the icing before you slice the cake kinda ahhhs.

Which brings us to Saturday night… 4 years later… or, 1,462 days, to be exact. Saturday night all I could do was thank God that I got to be there to wish upon those shooting stars before I headed off to chase sweet dreams.

They are my lucky stars.

They remind me that every single one of those 1,462 days have been like icing on the cake. And even if August likes to kick the shit out of me, the first thing I think about when I think about August is icing on the cake.

[And in case you’re thinking of sneaking a small smackerel of icing…beep… beep… beep… we interrupt this blogpost for an important message from our sponsor. Yes, this is just another friendly PSA from me. Please go check yourself girlfriends, cuz I luvs ya! And here’s my prayer as I lift a glass to y’all in cheers to your health: “May I always be the 1 in 8 whenever we are in a room together. Amen.”]

Clink-clink.

OK, so now we can dig into the layers of that cake.

August is a month of anniversaries for me.

• 11^th – the day I found the damn spot
• 20^th – the day my doctor said the C-word to me
• 29^th – the day I got “everything” off my chest, thereby causing TSA peeps everywhere mass confusion as to WTF is my gender

This August is also a big month for my book. I’m super freaking happy to announce that one of my favorite organizations, the Save the ta-tas Foundation, has featured my book in their August newsletter. This means more than I can ever adequately express. I don’t know if you know much about save the ta-tas, but if you know me at all, I’m sure you’ve seen me styling in my black save the ta-tas tank. If not just check out cartoon me on the back cover of my book.

Well, real me, actually bought said real life tank while I was writing Shaken Not Stirred… a Chemo Cocktail. I figured I’d make a pretty damn good billboard.

Here’s why I don’t mind being a billboard for them. Save the ta-tas tagline is “Having fun raising funds to fighting cancer since 2004.” Besides making t-shirts and etc. that made me lol when I needed it most, putting the fun in my personal fight against cancer, which is how I roll, they also are fighting cancer on the cutting edge by funding 5 real life superhero breast cancer researchers.

Respect.

And here’s the icing on top of all that. After I bought that t-shirt, I wrote Julia Fikse, the founder of save the ta-tas a message thanking her. To my surprise she wrote me back. I mean, how many organizations with 300,000 fans on Facebook do you know who take the time to personally answer a FB message? Not only that, but she continued to encourage me in my fight against breast cancer with the writing of my book, which I hope puts a little fun in the fight like save the ta-tas has put into mine and so, so many others. Not only that, but she also read my manuscript and sent it back to me with notes and smiley faces. The copy I will always keep. Not only that, but she gave me permission to for my cartoon me to wear the real deal save the ta-tas logo on my tank on the book cover.

Love.

As a small way of paying forward the incredible debt of love and laughter I’m head over heels in for, I am donating 100% of my proceeds from August sales of my book to the save the ta-tas foundation.

So if you were wondering what to get me for my cancerversary… I’d love you forever if you bought a book and helped me pay it forward!

It’s currently available through Amazon, Kindle, Barnes & Noble, Joseph-Beth Booksellers, and Book Bums. If you feel like slathering on some icing on the cake for me, you can comment up my book on the web sites and request your bookstores to stock it.

And if you act now, by my book and email me your addy, I’d like to send you a little thank you note with one of my very special typographical error ridden SKAKEN NOT STIRRED (yes. they say skaken:p) bracelets. I only give these out to my most special peeps.